


We Pray For Peace, Instead We Get Chaos

by Little_Red92



Series: Chaos Thoery [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Archie Andrews, Demisexual Jughead Jones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 85,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Red92/pseuds/Little_Red92
Summary: It's the night of his sixteen birthday when it happens. When a small gathering turns into a wild a house party. When chaos and darkness invite themselves into his life and find a home within in his heart. He's barely sixteen years old when a stranger rapes him outside his best friend's house. He's barely sixteen years old, and already his entire world has toppled down like a house of cards.





	1. Until it Happens to You

__

_'Til it happens to you, you don't know_  
_How it feels_  
_How it feels_  
_'Til it happens to you, you won't know_  
_It won't be real_  
No _, it won't be real_  
_Won't know how it feels_

**Lady Gaga - Until it Happens to You**

 

It was the night of my sixteenth birthday when it happened. The surprise party with a few close friends had spun into chaos; it arrived at the door with long red hair and an appetite for destruction, though I am sure even Cheryl Blossom didn’t intend for the night to unfold the way it did. She may have been seeking disorder, a little reckless abandon but even she wasn’t cold enough to have wanted something so sinister to happen right under her nose.

No one noticed me slip away into the night, no one saw the person following me out, or if they did, they didn’t care. As I escaped the pounding music, the sweaty dancing crowd and dense space that had become Archie’s house, I took a deep breath and waited to find tranquillity in the expanse of the night sky. I prayed for peace, instead, I found chaos. Instead, I was dragged into the shadows; instead of walking to Pop’s like I had originally planned to do I was raped on my best friend’s lawn.

You don’t ever think these things are going to happen, that fate would be cruel enough to hand you to the darkness.

I guess you just never know until it happens to you.

XXX

Jughead’s tongue taste like grass, like dirt. All he can smell is earth, is the pungent sweet and spicy aroma of cologne, the vibration of the bass shakes the ground and rattles his bones; the thud, thud, thud of it is almost as powerful as the pounding of his heart. He can’t see anything, can’t move or scream or beg. There’s only pain, only blades of grass, a song playing so loud that the lyrics are lost in the thumping of the base and cold, damp soil to dig fingernails into it. No one is coming. No one is going to step into the shadows and see what is happening. If he’d screamed, if the fear hadn’t threaded a vice around his neck, no one would have heard it, the music is too loud, everyone is too drunk.

There is only the taste of earth; hot, moaning breath against the back of his neck and the sensation of bruising hands holding him down, one on his hip the other forcing the right side of his face into Archie’s slightly overgrown lawn. He can barely feel the hands though, the tickle of grass against his skin, it’s nothing compared to the brutal thrusts. There is no mercy, no one stepping in to make this stop; it’s just him, agonising pain and a violent stranger under a glittering night sky. He needs it to be over, for the pain to stop, for the blades of grass to lace around his limbs and drag him down into the cold depths of the earth and away from the blaring music and the person who’d appeared out of the dark.

Jughead had needed some air, things had gotten out of hand, and he just wanted to take in a deep breath of cool, crisp, autumn night air and decide his next move. He was going to leave, head to Pop’s and slip into a booth under neon lights and wait until it was safe to return. At dawn he’d stumble back, the house would be silent, partygoers long gone; he’d tiptoe through the mess and collapse into bed, where he would stay until the sorrow had left these bones.

He never made it that far, it all happened so fast, which is what they always say. Sorry, it happened so fast, I couldn’t see a thing. It took him by surprise, one moment he was looking up at the night sky, feeling impossibly small, immensely sad then the night sky was blocked from view, and powerful hands were dragging him to someplace he didn’t want to go. It took a moment to realise it was his beanie that was obscuring his vision, he thrashed wildly, digging his heels into the ground, desperate to get his hands free so he could at least see what the hell was going on.

He tried, he kicked his legs, but they only found air, he struggled, he fought, but his attacker overpowered him significantly. When his body finally landed on the ground, breath knocked out of him and head pounding from the force it hit the ground with. For a moment, he believed it was over. If only it were. If only he walked out a few minutes earlier, then he would have been entering Pop’s, the smell of coffee and burgers making him feel at home. But it wasn’t coffee that was on his tongue; it was copper, earth and salt.

No late night owls were sitting quietly in booths under bright lights, no waitresses with weary eyes and grease stained aprons came to take his order. Instead there was pain; instead, hands were unzipping his pants, easily batting away his attempts to stop them. He is flipped onto his stomach, cold night air biting at the backs of his legs and blades of grass filling his mouth and nose. He should rip his beanie off, do something since there is no one holding his arms still but then there was a sickening tear as his underwear were ripped away like they were made of nothing. There was coldness; there was fear that paralysed and pain like Jughead had never felt before.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, it exploded into the night, and he imagined it shattering windows, reaching every ear in Riverdale. In reality, no one heard it, or if they did, they either didn’t care or were too drunk to do anything about it. He couldn’t stop the fingers that invaded him; there was no fight left in him, fear had turned blood to ice and flesh to stone and trapped any further screams or pleas in a constricting throat. When the fingers left, Jughead hoped once more that it was over, but hope is a tricky thing that can easily be taken away.

So this is it, this is the end of his sixteenth birthday party. This is happening. There is cold, hard earth beneath him, that is growing damp between his legs; there is grass in his mouth, soil under his nails and hot breath panting and moaning against his neck. It was just supposed to be a quiet gathering, he didn’t even want the stupid thing in the first place, but Archie insisted, and at first, it was actually okay. It was just a few people then Cheryl turned up, and everything escalated.

It got out of hand, but it wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was never meant to end like this, but it has. Jughead’s under an indigo night sky with glittering stars, and a bright full moon and some guy he probably has walked by in the school halls is hurting him, is raping him. Happy birthday Jughead, thanks for the cake and virginity. He cries, tears fall like rain, followed by heaving, body wracking sobs. His assailant doesn’t stop. The pain is immense; it’s all consuming, the forces of each thrust are so violent that Jughead’s entire body movies with each ram of hips.

The pain doesn’t stop, not even after he is gone and Jughead’s left half naked on his best friend’s lawn, with the evidence of what has been done glistening in the silver moonlight. It feels like centuries until he can move until he can breathe until he is brave enough to remove the beanie from his eyes and see what has been done to his body. Crying out, vocal cords straining under the abuse, he slowly rolls over, it hurts; it makes fresh blood trickle down pale thighs. For a moment all Jughead can do is look up through the branches at the night sky, it feels even larger than it did before and it makes him feel like nothing.

Eventually, he tears his gaze away, only to be faced with something more terrifying than an entire universe filled with mysterious and stars long ago burnt out. In the pale light of the moon and glow of lights from the house, the blood appears black, seed almost luminescent. It’s horrifying, it’s disgusting, it rips the air from his lungs, it turns his skin to ice and makes him vomit onto the grass. He can’t breathe; he’s gagging on pizza and popcorn, choking on the taste of earth and copper, trembling from the cold, from shock.

He feels so infinitely small, the world is loud, thunderous and it didn’t hear his scream, it didn’t hear the silent pleas to be rescued, to be spared from such a cruel act. It’s so cold; everything seems far away, the world tilts and wilts, it spins out of control until there is no up or down. There is no oxygen in his lungs, the vice tightens around his throat, and someone pulls it taught, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe. He wants to lie down again, to just lay there and let it all end.

A loud crash reaches through the chaos and drags him back to the world, he gasps in much-needed air, looking around, expecting to see someone or something but outside is silent, inside the party rages on. He can’t stay here; he has to get up, go inside. Do something, anything. Moving hurts, his body feels wrong; the skin no longer fits; the bones are too feeble to carry the heartache. He struggles to pull his pants up from where they were hastily shoved down to his ankles. Fingers shake so violently they can’t manage to do up the button, and God knows where his suspenders have gone. He should find them, find his tattered underwear too. He needs to shower, to wash away the blood, scrub away him.

He should call the sheriff’s department, report this, ask for help, God he needs help right now. He retrieves his phone from the right pocket of his pants; it feels heavy and foreign in his hand. Fingers won’t move; they don’t call for help. Everyone will know, the sheriff will turn up with sirens blaring, and people will rush out, pour into the street and try to outrun the trouble they’re about to be in. Some will slip away; disappear like thieves in the night. Some will get caught; they will blame him for getting in trouble, Jughead will be the kid that called the cops to a party where everyone has been drinking. Where everyone is having so much damn fun, but he’s out in the cold.

He’s been broken while they danced and took shots and played beer pong.

Everyone will know. They’ll know what happened to him, and they probably won’t even care. They’ll be pissed they got grounded, that they had to ride to the station in a cop car instead of kissing their crush in a dimly lit corner or downing yet another beer with a friend. They’ll hate him even more than they already do, and they probably won’t believe him. The person who just violated him will probably get away with it; it’s not like Jughead saw his faces, it’s not like he matters in a town that loves its jocks and cheerleaders and founding families.

If he calls for help he is starting a fight he isn’t sure he can win, a fight he isn’t certain he has the strength to battle. He is so cold, so tired, the pain has faded to numbness, and when he looks down at the ground, he sees a headstone with his name engraved into the rough surface. On the night of his sixteenth birthday, he lost his virginity, he lost part of himself, and though the headstone is just a trick of the light, a twisted conjured up image, it feels like it should really be there. Tonight he died a little, tonight instead of celebrating with his friends and the boy he longed for, a stranger dragged him into the shadows and violated him.

Tonight Jughead Jones was unmade just a little.

A little death, a little loss of innocence and blood marked the end of the night. It was over; he was ending this. Gritting his teeth, biting back a scream he heaves himself to his feet, the world sways, or maybe it’s just him, bones threaten to give up, to give in. It takes great strength to stay standing, to make quivering legs move unsteady feet towards the power box. Every step is torture; it aches, it burns; it has tears clouding his vision and turns his stomach. He can’t stop, even though it’s agonising, even though fresh blood spills down the inside of his thighs, seeping through his pants, showing the world what had been done.

On the short journey to the house, he steps on something, illuminating the ground with his phone light, he finds his discarded suspenders and torn underwear. It takes an age to collect them, to hide the secrets of the night. Fuelled by rage, burning with pain he cuts the power and lets the darkness, the silence that is broken by a chorus of ‘Hey’ and ‘who turned off the lights’ wash over him. It’s over; he counts to twenty then starts to make the journey back inside. Each step grows increasingly difficult, the inside of his thighs are slick with blood, with seed, its revolting, it makes him feel unclean, used. He can’t stop though, a few more steps and he’ll be at the bottom of the steps, it hurts like hell to climb them, but he doesn’t stop.

People shove past him, laughing, tripping down steps and staggering in towering heels, they trickle out of the houses in pairs or groups, off home, off somewhere else to explore the rest of the night. When he steps inside, he nearly collides with Cheryl. It startles him, and he almost stumbles backwards, but she has slender fingers laced around his arm, holding him steady, her nails look are as red as the blood trickling down his inner thighs. He pulls away from her, repulsed by the touch, angry at her for so many reasons. Her eyes shimmer, and for a moment he thinks she is going to cry, but she flips her long red hair over one shoulder and gracefully disappears into the night.

The house is silent; it smells of beer, sweat and pizza, the air is charged with the energy of a hundred sweaty, excited bodies that no longer fill up its space. It’s a mess. Red plastic cups litter the ground, chips have been tipped over the sofa, and the wood beneath his feet is tacky from what he hopes is beer. Fred is going to be pissed, and Jughead doesn’t care one bit, Archie shouldn’t have let this get out of hand, he shouldn’t have forgotten his friend and left him to wander into the arms of danger.

Shaking the thoughts, the rage from his mind he makes the slow trip upstairs, stepping on a pair of sunglasses as he goes the lens splinters beneath his boot, he deliberately presses down harder, shattering the glass further; he doesn’t want to be the only thing broken tonight. Carefully he continues upwards, the stairs have become hazardous, and the landing and hallway isn’t much better. It’s going to take a long time to clean this up, and Archie is going to be so grounded if Fred comes home early and finds it like this.

On the way to the bathroom, he stops by Archie’s, well currently their room, sneaking a look in. His childhood friend is passed out, someone has tucked him into bed, and he can only imagine it was Veronica or Betty. He didn’t see the girls leave, he had lost sight of them hours ago, and it’s possible the two of them snuck off to a quiet, hidden corner to be alone. That would mean someone else had helped Archie to bed, had tucked him in like a child and left a glass of water on the nightstand; it’s something Jughead would have done, even in his anger. There is no one to tuck him in, to help him out of these rumpled, grass and blood stained clothes and wrap him in blankets and tell him it’s all going to be okay.

Instead, he has to struggle to the bathroom, remove the ruined clothing from bruised skin and avoid catching even the briefest glimpse of the broken boy in the mirror. No one runs the shower for him; no one helps him wash away the blood or scrub him from his skin, from under his fingernails and inside. His seed is inside of him; it’s in so deep Jughead can’t reach it, he can’t remove every last shred of the night. Jughead does try, he thinks about using his fingers to scrape it out but it hurts, and he has to give up the foolish task.

Legs fail him; he slips down to the tiled floor and screams, choking on the stream of water that cascades over his battered body. He cries, he breaks, he shatters into a thousand pieces, and some of those pieces disappear with the crimson water down the drain. When there is no sorrow left in his chest, no tears left in his eyes and the water has turned cold, he heaves himself to shaking legs and dries himself with even shakier hands. He brushes his teeth until his gums bleed and swallows two Tylenol in hopes they’ll stop the pain.

All he wants to do is sleep, is to crawl into bed and wake to find this was just a bad dream, just a fucked up dream that he’ll soon forget. It’s not going to end with sleep, it’s not going to go away with the break of day, the bruises will be worse come morning, and he’ll have to hide them, have to smile and fake his way through the pain. He’s good at that, he’s learnt how to conceal the misery, the hurt, but this is different. This is bigger than anything he’s ever had to hide, but he’ll try, he’ll do whatever he has to move on, to make this night be nothing more than a memory of a nightmare.

He’ll remove the evidence, hide the truth and everything will be okay when the sun rises. He’ll be fine; he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. He stuffs the clothes and ripped underwear in the bottom of his school bag; he’ll deal with them later; there will be plenty of opportunities to throw them out tomorrow. Painfully and slowly he dresses in a baggy hoodie that might possibly be Archie’s and struggles into a pair of pyjama pants, panting, trembling, he crawls into bed, holding tight to the covers.

Archie is snoring softly; the sound is oddly comforting. Tired eyes flutter closed, silent tears slip through thick lashes and in the dark night an unsteady voices whispers, “You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine,” until the darkness claims him.

XxX

For a few blissful minutes when Jughead stirs awake, in the space between sleep and waking, everything is okay. Nothing hurts; there is no memory of a night gone horribly wrong. It drifts away, like smoke from a fire floating up into the sky, and last night flashes behind closed eyes and pain blooms between thighs. Memories roar back to life, the taste of grass and copper taints his tongue, damp earth and pungent cologne fill his nose and for a moment he cannot see.

Panic sears through his veins, he gasps desperately for air, choking on the invisible noose that has tightened around his throat, trapping the air in in his lungs. Archie’s warm, safe bedroom evaporates. It’s cold, the bed is gone from underneath him, and in its place is grass glistening with blood. Strong hands reach for him; they try to hold him still. He lashes out, he screams and pulls away when the hands won’t let go. The crimson coloured grass is gone; the open sky has been replaced with a ceiling covered with posters and cracks.

He’s not outside, he’s in Archie’s bedroom, and his best friend is hovering over him, expression confused and eyes bloodshot. Jughead takes a deep breath and uses all the strength he has to pull himself together, to come up with a good reason for this rare outburst. He is hoping Archie is too sick to push for a reason; he looks as terrible as Jughead feels. Archie does ask, he looks at Jughead like he has gone mad or is terribly ill and asks if he is okay, and he almost says no, he almost cries and says ‘no, Archie, I’m not.’

He doesn’t, he shrugs it off and mutters something about never going to see werewolf movies again, which is bullshit, because Jughead is immune to horrors, and Archie knows this. Archie doesn’t force him to open up though, and part of Jughead wished he did, wished he asked ‘are you sure, Juggie?’ And he might have just told the truth. But Archie gets up and staggers out of the room, muttering something about needing a shower and Jughead doesn’t move. He stares at the space where Archie just was; a single tear escapes as he whispers, words like glass and ash in his mouth, “I was raped, Archie.”

The words float up in the air, they sit heavy above his head like storm clouds, and that’s where they stay, a storm above the head of a boy who is rapidly coming undone.

***

“You look terrible.”

Archie announces as he staggers into the room, leaning heavily on the mop handle to stay upright. Jughead looks up from where is sitting, attempting to eat the leftover birthday cake he never tried last night. He doesn’t answer Archie. He knows how terrible he looks, he caught a glimpse in the mirror, and he’d been unable to stop staring. He should have looked away, shouldn’t have taken note of the cut beneath his eyes from where something sharp scraped against his cheek or the dark bruising around his eye and the canvas of purples, blues and greens scattered about his cheek and jawbone. He shouldn’t have studied the purple hand-shaped bruises that curved around narrow hips or the finger marks littering inner and outer thighs.

As he stared at the damage a memory floats up out of the dark, a terrified voice screams in his mind, it cries ‘Stop, stop, stop’ but the brutal hands don’t stop. So he had to protect himself, if he fought hard enough, kept his legs from being pried open then he’d be fine. The hands were too strong, the grip too powerful and the battle was lost. He tried, he did but it wasn’t enough, fingers invaded him with a burning touch and before he’d come to grasps with that pain something bigger was forced inside him.

“Jug?”

The images scatter, he rubs angrily at his eyes “You don’t look so good yourself, Arch” he snapped, slamming the milk cartoon onto the countertop.

“Geez, I’m sorry and can you not shout? My head is killing me.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you drink too much?” the anger comes without warning, it’s childish and unfair to take this out on Archie, but he is hurt, he is so fucking hurt, and he can’t hold back the flood. “Did you party too hard? Maybe you should have thought of that before you let a bunch of douche bags crash the birthday party I didn’t even want.” He stands up so quickly that the stool tips over and clatters to the floor, Archie winces and Jughead storms away; even though every step hurts. He’s made it five feet when a deep ache stirs to life in his stomach and has him doubling over.

“Jug, are you okay?”

No, no he is not fucking okay, but he isn’t going to admit that, even though Archie is right there, ready to listen. He grits his teeth and storms out of the room, upstairs and into their messy room. Collapsing onto the air mattress, he finally lets a cry escape past tightly sealed lips. Everything hurts, his stomach cramps, it has him curling into a ball and sobbing weakly. Fear awakens with the pain, it feels like ice rushing through his bloodstream, he has to calm down, pull himself together and get through this.

Whatever this new pain is it won’t last, like the bruises and the ache between his legs it will fade. Only as time goes on it doesn’t, it doesn’t get worse but it doesn’t stop either and he is starting to worry something inside is wrong, has been damaged. He should seek medical attention, should shout out to Archie and tell him to call an ambulance or his at least his dad so he can see a doctor. He can’t bring himself to move though, to find the courage to tell someone what has been done to him.

Archie doesn’t come to check on him, he stays away until Jughead texts him, asking for a hot water bottle because he needs something to at least alleviate the pain. It’s another half hour until Archie rushes into the room, dropping down beside him and handing him the hot water bottle. They don’t speak at first, Archie crawls into bed, keeping two weary, bloodshot eyes on him. When the pain ebbs, Jughead relaxes slightly, finally uncurling and stretching out his legs, it hurts to do even that.

“Did something happen, Jug?” Archie asked, eyes clouded with concern, with distressing thoughts that aren’t close to the truth at all.

“I fell down the stairs” he lied “well, I was kinda pushed by some drunken idiot but, yeah, bad night.” He wants to believe this, to believe the pain is caused by a stupid accident, not a cruel act, for the space of these few minutes he’ll buy his own lie.

“Ouch” Archie’s brow furrows deeply “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have let Cheryl and the others stay. I felt so lost, so angry with myself, ever since Miss Grundy I just feel… I don’t know, messed up.”

And the moment is gone, but he doesn’t feel as lonely as he did before, because maybe Archie understands, because Archie was hurt too. They were taken apart by cruel hands, used and abused for someone else’s pleasure and then thrown aside, garbage, broken, ruined. But then Archie says he misses her, that he really liked her and if Jughead had been in a better state of mind he would have reminded Archie that what Miss Grundy did to him was wrong and she played him.

The words don’t leave his lips; he is angry again, mood as changeable as the weather, well there is a storm above his head, inside his chest. Biting back the venomous, unkind words, he hugs the water bottle closer to his aching stomach and doesn’t answer. Outside a rain drop lands delicately onto the window, the sun is hidden behind thick, grey clouds and the bright, sunny day is lost to darkness.

“Please don’t tell my dad I still think about her?” Archie pleas over the heavy sound of rain “please, Jug?”

“Don’t worry” tired; sad eyes flutter shut, outside a branch scrapes like claws against the glass “I’m never telling anyone anything, literally, ever.” And he won’t, he won’t ever say what happened to him under the indigo sky with its glittering stars and crescent moon. He won’t ever tell, there is no point, no one cares, and the perpetrator always gets away with it in the end anyway.

XxX

Monday comes too fast for Archie, or maybe it doesn’t come soon enough. Yesterday had been so weird; actually, the day was fine, it was Jughead that was strange, and it was worrying Archie. They woke to find the day had turned into a cold, grey afternoon. As they finished cleaning the rest of the house, Archie tried to make conversation, to get Jug to at least smile or laugh but the grim expression didn’t fall from his face, the haunted look didn’t leave his eyes.

Something had changed; something had happened in the night, and now Jughead wasn’t himself, he didn’t even wear his beanie for the whole day. Jughead never goes without that stupid thing, hasn’t for years and suddenly he isn’t wearing it? It wasn’t even present when they headed out the door to school this morning. Archie’s stomach is in knots, troubled thoughts swirl through his mind, and he desperately searches the hall for Betty, he wants to ask her if she knows what is going on.

Her and Jug are friends, they hang out a lot actually, and Archie has wondered if maybe they are more than friends, but that thought makes him weirdly jealous. Not because Jughead is with Betty but because Betty is or might be with Jug and the fact he is jealous of that makes him question everything. Right now isn’t the time for him to freak out over these strange new feelings for his best friend; he needs to actually get Jughead to speak to him first.

As of right now, he is sure Jughead hates him. He’d been snappy, moody, withdrawn, and yeah, Jughead wasn’t like anyone else Archie had ever met, but he knew him well enough to know that this wasn’t normal behaviour. Sure, Juggie was a bit gloomy and liked the weirdest music, loved horrors and used sardonic humour to relate to the world, but at the end of the day, he was a kind person. He was Archie’s best friend, and something was wrong, very wrong and if he couldn’t find out what that something wrong then he couldn’t fix it.

At last, he spots Betty in the sea of students; she is with Veronica, they walk hand and hand, classmates parting to let them through. Archie rushes towards them, oblivious to their linked hands and the surprised, excited looks that follow their every step. He falls in step beside Betty, and they both offer him bright, happy smiles. They must sense the nervous energy surging through him or catch the trouble brewing in his eyes, Betty takes his hand, and they head towards the Blue and Gold. Veronica sits him down, and Betty closes the door before joining them.

“Arch, are you okay?” Betty asked, sitting down beside him.

“You look ill” Veronica adds, feeling his forehead for a fever he doesn’t have.

“I’m fine; it’s not me, it’s Jug.”

“Is he still pissed about the party?” Veronica inquired.

“It did get out of hand,” Betty sighed, “we shouldn’t have let Cheryl stay, hell we should have all just gone to the movies then to Pop’s like Jug asked.”

“He got to see his werewolf in Paris movie” Veronica pointed out “with Archie as his date.”

“It’s an American Werewolf in London” Archie clarified, “and it wasn’t a date, we do it every year.”

“Okay, so if it’s not about the party then what is it, Arch?” Betty rested her hand on top of his, her pink nails gleaming in the light.

“I think something happened at the party” it’s surprisingly difficult to get the words out, fear of the truth holding them back “something bad.”

“What makes you say that?” Veronica asked dark brow quirked and head tilted in that quizzical look she gets.

“Haven’t you seen him this morning? He came to school with me.”

“No, we haven’t” Betty answered, eyes darkening with concern. “Why?”

“Because the right side of his face is covered in bruises and yeah, he said he was knocked down the stairs, but I don’t believe him,” he said hastily “he looks so sad, sadder than I have ever seen him before.” Archie can’t shake the haunted look from his mind, Jughead may have said very little to him over the past twenty-four hours but his eyes, his body language said so much. Every time their gaze met he swore there were tears in Jughead’s eyes, it felt like he wanted to speak, to let out a dark secret but Jughead would look away, and Archie kept cleaning, kept ignoring the little voice in his head and twist in his gut.

When they finally collapsed, exhausted from scrubbing the house top to bottom, Jughead curled up on the sofa, clutching the water bottle to his stomach and stared for hours at nothing. When Archie brought him food at around seven, he startled, seeming more like a frightened animal than a human boy. He barely ate, he spent so much time in the shower that the water was cold by the time Archie had a chance to take one and when he went to yell at him, he found him crying.

The anger washed away, heartache taking its place, he should have ventured into the room, made his presence known but the sound of his father arriving home had him stepping away. Maybe he’d been too scared, too afraid to seek the truth. He needed the truth now though, something had happened, and judging by the bruises Archie could only assume the worst. He imagines the jocks roughing him up, throwing drunken punches and kicks, taking out their problems on his best friends face.

But the bruising on his face didn’t look like it was left by a fist and Jughead had been shoved around and knocked down plenty of times before, not that it was okay, but he’d never got sad about it. He brushed it off, took it in his stride and Archie would buy him a milkshake at Pop’s to make up for not being there to stop it. He’d shrug it off, tell Archie he wanted a burger too and the afternoon would pass by like any other, and the next day Jughead would be okay.

So what happened? Was it the party? Was he still upset about the road trip they never got a chance to go on? Or was it something else altogether. Veronica had said that he’d been Jug’s date; did Jughead have feelings for him, the same feelings that Archie might possibly have for him? If he spent more than a moment he might actually understand what his heart wants, what it has always wanted. Not Betty, not Miss Grundy, but Jughead, the friend who he spent countless nights staring up at the evening sky with, the friend who used to ride on the handlebars of his bike and whom he’d sneak out late at night to see before they grew up and Archie panicked.

He panicked and climbed into Miss Grundy’s car instead of going on a road trip where it would have just been him, Jughead and an open road, an unexplored world. He kissed Miss Grundy when he wanted to kiss someone else. He’d never acknowledge this part of himself, he did like girls, but he noticed guys too, but he pretended he didn’t. Of course, it was impossible not to notice Jughead. So here it is, the truth, the curtains are pulled back and here is the secret he has hidden, denied for God knows how long.

“Oh my God” Archie exclaims, looking from Betty to Veronica and back to Betty “Jughead likes me.”

“Yes,” Veronica says like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe.

“Do you like Jughead?” Betty probes, smiling softly.

“Yeah… like holy shit, yes I do” he jumps to his feet, nearly knocking Veronica’s coffee over in his haste. “I have to tell him.”

“Aw, look at you go, Archie” Betty cooed.

“Our little boy is all grown up” Veronica smirked, “now go get your man Archiekins.”

“Right” he nods, turns on his heel and bounds out the door with a spring in his step and heart hammering in his chest.

Only he never finds Jug, he looks for him all day, but he never finds his face in the crowd or in a classroom. He starts to worry, especially when his texts go unanswered. He leaves school at lunch, not caring if he gets in trouble, he has to make sure Jughead is okay, and if he isn’t at home, then he’s going to call the sheriff. When Archie arrives home, he finds Jughead curled up on the couch with Vegas. He almost collapses in relief. Jughead doesn’t look at him, he keeps staring at the TV and though it's playing some old movie Archie can tell Jug isn’t watching it. The uneasy feeling returns, it chases away the happiness, the joy he found in learning his heart's truth.

“You weren’t at school” he whispered, like to speak any louder would frighten Jughead.

“I had a stomach ache” he replied, never looking his way, clutching at the faded blue hot water bottle like it’s a lifeline.

“Oh” is all he says. The hope that he and Jughead can become something else, something more than friends is gone. Up in flames goes the spring in his step, the nervous excitement; he walked away when Jughead needed him to stay.

XxX

It’s only Wednesday, and already Jughead needs this week to be over. He hasn’t been sleeping, hasn’t been eating. He’s stumbling through the day, a ghost walking through the living world. There’s nothing, he is void, can’t feel the cold autumn wind or the hot stream of shower water, and he can’t taste the food he tries to eat or the coffee he guzzles so he doesn’t sleep. Because when he sleeps, when he dreams he feels, he feels everything. Rough hands, bruising fingers, brutal thrusts, the pain, the memories come alive when the darkness takes over, and he is back under the night sky, blinded, trapped, helpless.

It’s been two nights, and already he feels like he is going mad. He tried so hard to stay awake last night, to keep the nightmares at bay, but he’d lost the battle, succumbing sometime around three only to wake an hour later with a silent scream dying in a parched throat. He is relieved he didn’t scream, it would have woken Archie and his parents, and they already seem to think something is wrong, despite him reassuring them countless times that he is fine, it was just stairs, he’ll be okay.

Only it wasn’t just a tumble caused by a drunken fool; it was an act of violence committed with malicious intent. It was rape, and the bruises are still visible, there is still discomfort between his legs, and it doesn’t matter how many times he says I am fine or I am okay, he is not either of those things. He is a mess, a disaster and each day feels worse and worse. He is spiralling, body splintering and mind unravelling and all it will take is one hit, one good tug and he will shatter to a thousand sharp, glittery pieces.

There is a voice begging to get help, to tell Archie, his dad, anyone that will listen, that will believe him, but he keeps silencing it. He hasn’t said the word aloud since the day he whispered it to the place where Archie had just been. What would happen if he told someone? What could they do other than force him to tell his father, tell the sheriff who couldn’t do anything without evidence? He threw his pants and underwear out with the trash on Sunday, he showered and scrubbed at his skin until it bleeds, erasing all traces of the attack.

There was no proof, just the word of a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. People might think he was lying, seeking attention, playing some sick and twisted game. No, he couldn’t tell, no matter how much he wanted to. He’d get through this, the bruises would fade, and the pain between his legs would go, and then there would be no physical reminders.

The nightmares, the memories that woke him in the dead of night and haunted him wherever he went, and the panic attacks that were steadily getting worse would remain. It wasn’t just the stomach-ache that had him heading home on Monday; he’d been walking to class, committed to sticking this out when he smelt it, the pungent, spicy, sweet aroma of cologne. His body reacted on its own accord, he ran and ran, and he didn’t stop until was half a block away and his legs and lungs couldn’t take him any further.

It seemed like years until he could breathe again. Until he could stand and start the painfully slow journey back to Archie’s house. After that, he experienced three more panic attacks, one that night, the following two the second day, one before school and one in the middle of the day. He’d hid them all. Betty and Veronica may have shown concern and asked many questions about the bruising on his face, but eventually, they decided that the stair incident was true and left him alone.

If it weren’t for the fact that Betty and Veronica had finally gotten together the night of the party, then he was sure Betty wouldn’t have backed down so quickly. He wanted to be happy for them, for Betty, who’d been struggling with her feelings for Veronica ever since they met, but he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate. Ever since he smelt that cologne wafting through the sea of bodies he’d felt nothing, he was empty, he’d been hollowed out.

It was better this way; he could make it through the days, move through the halls like a ghost, free of fear, of misery and pain. It was better than the thousand jumbled emotions he’d been drowning in ever since the party. It wasn’t going to last though, as feet carried him through the hall, weaving through the horde of students, the scent he’d never forget seeped through the hundreds of other smells and a switch was flipped. With that, the pain, the paralysing fear, the disgust, the misery, everything, came screaming back to life.

Again he ran, body carrying him away, sending him to the nearest and safest place. It was dark inside the closet, it still smelt stale and felt cold and eerie, but it had been safe before, and it would be again. Huddling against the wall, he take several deep breaths, trying to calm his pounding heart and fill burning lungs with oxygen. He counts every breath, does everything in his power to not feel the emotions, to not let the waves turn into a flood.

He tries, he counts and breathes and breathes, but the memories keep pushing past the locked door and spill out into the open, wreaking havoc, bringing tears and broken sobs. He feels so alone, so small and fragile; he wants to be held, to have the tears wiped away and someone to tell him that it’s all going to be okay. There is no one in the dark, it’s just him, trapped, suspended in fear, in the assault of memories and emotions. If he rose, if he stood on unsteady legs and walked out of this room and to the guidance counselor's office and sat down at Mr Davis desks with its clutter and pretty family photos and said ‘I was raped’ then someone would comfort him.

They’d call his dad; they’d call the sheriff, maybe they’d get Archie to come to the office so he could wait with him. Maybe they would help him, make everything better and they’d make him tea, wrap him in a blanket, and he’d be able to feel unafraid for the first time since it happened. For a time things would be okay, he could indulge in the comfort, breathe, rest. Then the questions would come, the doubt, the disbelief and Archie would get in trouble, a lot of kids would get in trouble.

All so Jughead could have a few moments of feeling okay, of feeling something other than the cold misery that has seeped into his bones. After a new fight would begin, and all the comfort, blankets and tea in the world wouldn’t change anything, he couldn’t be unraped. He didn’t have his attackers identity, didn’t have any evidence to offer; it would just make everything worse, right? Should it matter though? Should he care that kids he didn’t even know would get in trouble?

Once Archie knew what had happened he wouldn’t be angry, not at him and Jughead may not have any proof of the attack but how could he just let whoever did this get away with it? They were walking the halls; they probably thought about what they had done, they probably relished in their freedom. At least if he told someone, then he would know Jughead wasn’t just accepting what they did. He wasn’t allowing them to get away with it, to think they could hurt him and he wouldn’t try to get justice for himself.

And what if they did this to someone else, someone sweet like Betty, someone free-spirited like Veronica, someone kind like Archie? Archie, who’d already been hurt, abused by Miss Grundy. She had gone free, she could hurt someone again, and now it was too late for Archie to go after her even if he wanted to. She had the chance to ruin someone else, how could Jughead give the guy who’d raped him the same chance? What if they destroyed someone else and he did nothing.

He couldn’t allow that, no one deserved to feel like this, not even someone as cold as Cheryl should have to endure the pain he was in. So he rose on trembling legs, walked on unsteady feet towards Mr Davis’ office and sat down at the messy desk, ignoring the shiny, bright, happy photos of his family. When Mr Davis finished with the trivial talk and mandatory inquiry about the bruises Jughead finally set the truth free, he opened his mouth, words shards of glass and tasting of earth and copper and said: “I was raped.”

***

Things don’t happen as quickly as Jughead imagines they would. Mr Davis stumbles through awkward questions, makes him give the whole story without painting a picture. He is uncomfortable, and it makes Jughead feel worse. There isn’t any comfort, just more questions. He realises that Mr Davis has probably never had someone tell him they’ve been raped, it shows in the way he keeps asking, ‘and you said no, you said stop?’ Jughead did say stop; he did say no, he remembers that now.

The words barely escaped past the blades of grass but he did say no when his pants were unzipped and underwear torn off, he said no when he felt two fingers breach his entrance. He said stop when he felt something bigger force its way inside him, he sobbed and begged. He said the right things, he did the right things, and it wasn’t enough. It’s why he is sitting here in this stupidly cheery office telling some guy he likes less and less by the minute that yes, he is sure he was raped.

“Alright,” he says at last. “I am going to have to call the sheriff and your father, after that I can’t do anymore.” He is standing up, getting ready to leave and make the calls or maybe he’ll chicken out and get someone else to do it for him. “I’m more than happy to offer support when you return to school” he adds, an afterthought and Jughead struggles to keep the tears at bay.

“Before you call my dad, could you send someone to get Archie” he is still desperate for comfort, for a hand to hold and there is no one he trusts more than his best friend. “Archie Andrews, he’s in Mrs Hart’s math class right now. I’d like to have him wait with me.”

“Of course, I’ll send someone to get him” he walks around the desk in such a hurry he knocks a stack of papers to the floor, and a framed photo of his two children topples over. He rushes to collect the paperwork but doesn’t right the fallen frame, as he moves towards the door he asks, “Would you like me to tell him… ah… tell him about the incident?”

Jughead doesn’t turn around, he can feel Mr Davis’s gaze against his back, but he won’t reveal the tears that are threatening to spill. “No… its fine” he chokes out, “I think he should hear it from me.”

“Okay, that’s probably for the best” the door squeaks as it opens and bangs heavily as it closes, leaving Jughead alone, crying, breaking, in the clutter of an all too cheery room.

XxX

Archie’s body floods with fear when Dilton Doiley arrives at the classroom door with a summons to the guidance counsellor’s office. Every step there he thinks this is it, they know, they know he had an affair with Miss Grundy and he is going to get expelled while she gets to go free. It wasn’t worth it. Now that he knows where his heart truly lies that silly summer fling has gone cold, feels wrong, and Geraldine wasn’t worth expulsion. On the way Dilton Doiley doesn’t speak, it’s not like they are friends, but Archie would have liked a warning, a moment to prepare.

When he arrives, he is ushered into Mr Davis’s small, canary yellow office and sitting in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs is Jughead, eyes red and cheeks damp. Archie is suddenly terrified. This is worse; this is so much worse than being busted for sleeping with a teacher. He tries not to let paranoid thoughts carry him away. He has been concerned for Jug’s well-being for the past three days, and now he is ready to open up, so Archie is damn well going to be supportive.

He sits down next to his best friend; angling the chair so that their knees are just brushing and he can look into Jughead’s deeply saddened eyes. It takes a few tries, a few heart-pounding moments of silence stretching on into infinity but Archie finds the courage to ask “Jug, is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not, Archie” Jughead doesn’t meet his gaze, words nothing more than a whisper “I was raped.”

“What?” Archie asked, sure he'd heard wrong, hoping he'd heard wrong. Things like that didn’t happen in Riverdale, to people that he knew, that he loved. It happened in big cities, to strangers. He had to have heard wrong. Please, God, this can’t be true.

“The night of the party” Jughead still doesn’t meet his eyes as he struggles to set the words free “I was raped.”

The words sit heavy in the space between them. Archie is frozen, eyes swimming with tears, a bottomless pit opens where his stomach should be, he can’t speak, can’t breathe. This is his fault. He let the party happen; he got wasted and let Jughead disappear from sight. Someone… God someone hurt his best friend while he danced with Betty and Veronica, while he got blind drunk and had a good time. He wants to run, to run back to that night and stop this before it can happen. But that is impossible; time does not belong to him, he can’t rewind the clock and save his best friend from being attacked.

His best friend, Jughead Jones was violated in the worst possible way, and he didn’t protect him. God, it probably happened under his roof. He has so many questions, who was it, when did it happen, where did it happen? How does he make this better, how does he fix this but all he can say is “Juggie” voice breaking, tears falling. “Oh God Jug, I am so sorry. I didn't… I wasn't there.”

“This isn't your fault, Archie” Jughead swore, finally meeting his eyes “I don’t blame you, I never did. So you don’t get to kick yourself over this, alright?”

“Okay,” he whispered “I don't know what to say, Jug. I don’t know what I should do to help you. Tell me what you need?”

“I honestly don't know, Arch.”

“Is Mr Davis calling your dad?” Archie asked, not knowing what else to say or do.

“Yeah” Jughead replied, brushing away a stray tear “I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I’m here, Juggie and I’m not leaving” he vowed, taking Jughead’s trembling hand into his unsteady one, clasping it tightly. “Who did this?”

“I couldn’t see” he revealed “he covered my eyes with my beanie” he let out a bitter laugh, it sent chills racing up Archie’s spine “I wear that stupid thing like a safety blanket and” he trailed off, choking on a heart-wrenching sob.

Helpless, Archie could only watch Jughead break before his eyes. He wanted to help, he needed to do something, but there wasn’t anything he could do to make this alright, to make the tears stop. He wanted to bundle Jughead in his arms, hold him close and protect him from this nightmare, from the pain he was in. From the outside, Jughead acted like he didn’t seek comfort, he avoided being touched by strangers, but Archie knows from personal experience that’s not the case.

Jughead Jones may not be like anyone else Archie has ever meet but he is still human, and right now he is fragile, he is hurting, and out of everyone he’d wanted him, so Archie is going to do the only thing he knows might help. He carefully lifts Jughead into his arms; he is heavier than expected but light enough for Archie to lift with ease. Jughead makes a surprised sound but doesn’t protest when Archie settles him in his lap. Jughead sags against him, burying his face into the soft fabric of the varsity jacket.

Jughead feels impossibly small in his arms, body trembling with sobs, with fear, it’s heart breaking; it makes Archie wild with rage. He wants to know who did this, who had the nerve to hurt his best friend while they were under his roof. How can he walk through the front door of his home knowing it has become such an ugly, tainted place? How has Jughead managed to stay there, knowing there is a room, a floor, a place that holds a terrifying memory? How did Archie ignore this for three days? He was aware that something was wrong, but he didn’t think it was this.

“I’m sorry” Archie murmured, nuzzling at the soft raven locks, letting his cheek rest there, it felt strange to feel the tickle of hair rather than the soft knitted beanie. “We’ll find out who did this, I promise.” And he would, he would talk to everyone who was at the party, he’d go over every little detail of the night, and when Jughead was ready, he’d listen to his story, no matter how much it hurt. Whoever did this wasn’t going to get away with it.

He was going to get justice for Jughead, no matter the cost.

XxX

It’s an agonising wait for his dad, each stroke of the clock makes him flinch, has the fear and anxiety growing stronger, turning it into a living beast inside his chest. If it weren’t for Archie’s solid weight beneath him, the reassuring arms wrapped snug around his body; he would have fallen apart by now. Archie tethers him to the world, anchors him to the present, so he doesn’t stumble into the churning memories that are tearing through his fragile mind. For the moment he takes comfort in his best friends embrace, he allows himself to believe it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to get better.

It’s only a momentary reprieve. Before his father arrives, Principal Weatherbee enters the room and starts asking questions. He doesn’t want to answer these kind of things in front of Archie and to be honest, he isn’t sure if this is necessary, but he is accusing another student of rape. Once more he tells of the horrors that unfolded that night without divulging the nitty gritty details. He isn’t ready to speak of the pain, to mention how at first the blood felt warm dripping down his inner thighs but by the time he made it upstairs it had gone cold.

He tells the same story, he was attacked from behind, blinded by his beanie then dragged into the shadows where despite fighting, despite saying no and stop he was knocked to the ground and raped. Archie’s arms tighten around him as he speaks, it should frighten him to be held so firmly, but he knows if he said ‘let go’ Archie would without a moment’s hesitation. When they have finished, the night's events darkening the room like a summer storm, FP arrives, and Jughead braces himself for what is to come.

He is terrified of his father’s reaction; he wished he knew for certain that his father would be supportive, that he’d handle this with a level head. That isn’t his father though; he is quick to anger, quick to judge and give blame. Jughead doesn’t want to be blamed for this; he doesn’t want to be told he is weak, being too sensitive. Whenever he used to mention the bullying FP told him to fight back, that’s what the Jones’s do, they fight, and they win.

He comes from a family of tough, rough men and he is not like that, he isn’t afraid to fight, to protect himself, but he isn’t strong like his cousins, like his dad. This is evident since here he is, on a Wednesday morning, sitting on Archie Andrew’s lap, because he wasn’t strong enough to stop someone from raping him. It makes him feel ashamed; he can’t meet his father’s eyes, though he can feel him staring at him, feel his presence fill every corner of the room.

“What’s going on here” FP demanded. He must be confused as to why Jughead he is huddled on Archie’s lap, face bruised and eyes more haunted than they have ever been. “Are these two in some kind of trouble?”

“I think you should sit Mr Jones,” Principal Weatherbee says, and Jughead wonders where Mr Davis went, probably chickened out after all.

“Alright” FP takes a seat, he looks out of place among the sunshine yellow paint, his clothes are spotted with dirt, and he smells like earth.

It makes Jughead gag, sends his heart racing and has a fist squeezing the air from his lungs. For a moment he thinks he is dying, it always feels like dying, but then he regains control of the thunderous thoughts in his head and pulls in a deep, ragged, watery breath. Everyone is looking at him, his face is damp with tears, he’s gripping at Archie like a lifeline, and he can only imagine what the wild, frightened look in his eyes is like. He takes several more deep breaths, trying to stop the trembling and ease the dizziness from his head.

“Mr Jones are you alright?” the principal asked, sounding more concerned than Mr Davis did.

“Yeah” he replied weakly, “I think I need some air.”

“We’ll let you go in just a few moments Mr Jones,” he said before returning his attention to FP.

“Do we really have to stay here for this” Archie interjected, “Jughead’s had to tell this story twice this morning, does he have to really do it a third?”

“Archie, it's fine” Jughead reassured when in truth it wasn’t, he didn’t want to see the outcome of this.

“Someone needs to tell me what is going on,” FP snapped, looking between the three of them “have you been getting bullied again, Jughead?” he sends daggers towards the principle “Well?”

“Mr Jones, I am afraid what you are about to hear isn’t going to be easy” he keeps his tone calm, expression neutral “your son reported to our guidance counsellor this morning that he was sexually assaulted at a party on the weekend.”

Jughead braces himself, even Archie tenses, they exchange a brief nervous glance; they are prepared for rage, for fury. When his father’s head snaps in his direction, there is disbelief flickering in his blue eyes, a whisper of something else Jughead can’t quite identify.

“Is that true Jug?”

He flinches at the tone, at the raw anger simmering below the surface. He shouldn’t be getting punished for this, he did everything he could, and he’s sorry he isn’t strong, that he is quiet and weird and an easy target. But this is the truth, it’s painfully and ugly, but it’s the Gods honest truth, and Archie isn’t holding him accountable for what happened. He wasn’t angry or cold; he wrapped him in his arms and vowed to protect him like he always has. So he says a little bitterly, a little angrily ‘yes, I was raped’ because that’s what it’s called, not an incident or an attack or sexual assault. Once he’s said it, he feels cold, feels ill, each time he says the word aloud it rattles through him. It’s taking all his self-control to not spiral, to not let the thoughts drag him kicking and screaming into the dark recesses of his mind where the events of That Night are on replay forever.

FP lurches to his feet, with one sweep of his arm he knocks the piles of paper, random knick-knacks and photo frames to the floor, the sudden burst of rage startles everyone. The beast has been awoken, and Jughead fears its wrath. He trembles, choking back pitiful sobs, Archie does his best to comfort him, but he is out of his depths, they both are, they are too young to be dealing with this. It’s just too much. Principal Weatherbee orders him to calm down; FP drops back into the seat and lets out a shaky breath.

“Where is the kid responsible for this?” he is livid, it’s more terrifying than any drunken rage Jughead has seen “Tell me, Jughead.”

“He didn’t see him,” Archie answered for him, voice quavering “he covered Jughead’s eyes so he couldn’t see him.”

He’s so grateful for Archie; he isn’t sure he can find his voice at the moment, it’s caged behind the lump and burning tears.

“Perhaps you boys should go get some fresh air, after all,” Principal Weatherbee said, finally understanding that this was too much for them both. “We’ll finish talking, and then you can go.”

Jughead doesn’t say thank you or offer another word, he gets to his feet and flees the room, Archie following quickly at his side. He doesn’t stop until they are outside in the car park, the crisp autumn breeze whispering against their skin and sending leaves dancing through the air. Legs give way, sending him to the ground, a marionette with its strings cut. Archie barely manages to grab hold of him before he can collapse to the asphalt. They sit side by side in the parking lot, leaning against Cheryl’s brand new cherry red Mini Cooper. They don’t speak, there is plenty to say, plenty that needs to be told but for now, Jughead just wants to breathe, to have a moment free of heartache and spiralling, maddening thoughts.

***

There isn’t a moment of peace for the rest of the day; chaos erupts around Jughead; there are questions from his father, who is still bristling with rage, shaking with fury. Jughead feels unsafe in his presence; he can’t tell if the anger is directed at him or if that’s disappointment he catches flickering in the depths of blue eyes. He is grateful for Archie, who laces their fingers together and doesn’t let go, not for one second, even though their palms are sweaty. His father won’t meet their eyes, and Jughead can’t meet his as he says, promises that he tried, that he did his best and Archie apologises profusely even though this is absolutely not his fault. He says he’ll do anything to make this right.

FP tells him it’s too late, the damage is already done, and Jughead wants to curl up and die, to take the words back, rewind time and not tell a soul. He hates this, hates seeing the truth in the blinding daylight, through his father’s piercing eyes. He is damaged, he is a victim, and those are ugly things. Those are unchangeable things. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, months from now, years from now he’ll still be those things. He’ll still have been raped on his sixteenth birthday. He isn’t the same anymore, he won’t ever be the same again, and everyone else who hears about this will be changed in some way.

He’s never been important; no one noticed him unless they wanted someone to shove, to hit, to abuse, now he is going to be seen for all the wrong reasons. If it weren’t for Archie’s steady hand keeping him from shattering, from running, he wouldn’t have gone to the sheriff’s station to make an official report. He does though, FP drives them, and Jughead thinks this is the last thing his father wants. FP would rather take care of this himself, but Jughead isn’t above the law. He doesn’t get to have the guy who attacked him kneecapped or worse just because his father has connections.

He is better than the person who did this to him, and he won’t ever be like his father. There is a chance whoever did this will get away with it. It’s a high chance since Jughead has no face to identify or DNA to present, but there were at least a fifty or more people at that party, someone had to have seen something, anything. Legs carry him through the front door of the sheriff station; he is moving on autopilot, seeing the world from afar and right now that is probably for the best. It feels like he is in shock, like he is getting sick and any moment he will faint, unable to stay standing in the world that has suddenly turned cold and crueller than ever.

He doesn’t let Archie or FP accompany him into the Sheriff’s office; he knows he will be asked questions he isn’t ready for anyone else to hear. The questions are unbearable; they are invasive and violating in their own right. Sheriff Keller asks him things that are deeply personal, he forces him back to Archie’s lawn, and he might as well be getting raped all over again. They were only half way through, and he can’t take it anymore. He needs the sheriff to stop talking, stop asking things like ‘do you know if a condom was used’ to which he says ‘no’ in a broken voice and then he is asked ‘did he ejaculate inside you’ and he is vomiting ‘yes’.

It’s ugly and painful, and it gets worse. He is requested to have photos taken, the bruises are still very much present, and the hand prints left on his skin might be useful, and everything should be documented. He is asked about his clothes, but they are gone, the pants and underwear at least, the sheriff still wants the shirt and jacket he was wearing and his beanie. He says he’ll have them dropped in; the words are heavy and his voice hoarse as he speaks around the sobs building in his throat. The sordid details have been neatly written onto an ordinary piece of paper where they will stay until someone types them into a computer and then the words will be shredded, but it won’t undo anything.

This is really happening.

This is his new reality, welcome to life as a victim.

Afterwards, they take lots of photos, every time the photographer takes a picture the flash blinds him, makes him flinch. He wants to hide, to put his clothes back on and collapse to the floor, sink through it, seep deep into the earth where the shame and humiliation can’t reach him. It feels like centuries until the bright white flashes stop and he can redress, cover up the marks and return to Archie, who takes one look at him and pulls him into his strong embrace. All Jughead wants to do is go home, have a hot shower and wash away his skin, rip it off until he finds someone new and untouched underneath, then he will emerge clean, purified.

That’s not going to happen; there is not enough soap and hot water to erase the damage that has been done. There is no escaping these fragile bones. And after all that, after having to relive the trauma, there is a chance it won’t do any good. There isn’t much that can be done, and Jughead knew this, but he put himself through that hell anyway, in case there was a spark of hope. Maybe there will be, the sheriff will interview everyone that attended the party and if someone saw something they could investigate a little further. But his chance for justice was slim, even if someone could give him a name and a face it might not be enough to lay charges.

It’s out of their hands now, all he can do is provide names of the people who crashed the party and try to go on with his life, try to reassemble the pieces. They send him out the door and straight through the doors of the hospital. He is told to have tests for STD’s and HIV and though it’s been a few days the doctor requests to perform an internal examination. It’s a nightmare, he can’t stop trembling, and before he can even change into the flimsy hospital gown, he is folding in on himself, gasping through gut-wrenching sobs. He doesn’t want to do this, he wants to just go home and not be touched and exposed any more than he already has been today, but no one is listening, and the doctor and his dad forced him to go through with it.

He hates them for it, especially his dad who hasn’t offered him any kind words or comfort; who won’t look his way. Jughead is sure he is fine, it still hurts but not like it did and the bleeding stopped the following day. The doctor says there could be tearing and infections and he thinks about how he is starting to feel sick, how he is shivering so violently his teeth chatter. Maybe it’s just fear, but there is pain when he sits and walks. In the end, he climbs onto the examination table, spreads his legs and grips Archie’s hand for dear life.

Archie asked if he wanted him to stay, he glared at the doctor and FP when they forced him into this. It was horrible; it hurt, it made him panic and cry and feel so utterly weak. Archie never let go of his hand, he shed tears with him and kissed every knuckle when a pitiful moan escaped past gritted teeth. Twenty minutes later, though it felt like a thousand lifetimes, it was over, and the doctor turned her amber eyes his way and said there were some shallow tears, swelling and bruising but it would heal in a few days’ time.

Jughead was sent him home with ointments, antibiotics to be safe and preventive HIV medication. He worried about how they were going to afford all of this, but he was too tired to voice his concerns. When they finally arrived home, Jughead had gone numb, he was exhausted, the day had been riddled with too many horrors, and now a switch had been flipped. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, not the shame, the sorrow, the anxiety; his mind was silent, empty of all thoughts and emotions. He left Archie and his dad downstairs, marching upstairs to the shower, needing to wash away the bright flash of the camera and the cold touch of the doctor’s hands.

There was no sensation of vigorous scrubbing, no warmth from the hot water, when he got out, skin red and bleeding in patches and cast his eyes towards his reflection, seeing a haunted wreck staring back at him, he still felt nothing. He dressed in clean baggy clothes and drifted out of the room, feet carrying forward on their own accord, body and bones tired, finally giving up the moment the air mattress came into sight. He dropped like a broken, ruined doll, curled into a ball under the blankets and let the silent, bitter tears fall.

Eventually, he fell asleep, falling down, down, down into a dark, monstrous world of memories twisted and warped into harrowing nightmares.

XxX

He wakes to a world of pain, to a wild storm of emotions raging in his head and crashing through his chest. The nightmares give way to reality, it’s less distorted and bloody, but it doesn’t make it any better. Outside has grown dark, someone has turned on the lamp by Archie’s bed and closed the curtains, but there is a gap where he can peer through at the trees and night sky. It reminds him of the other night, and he has to look away, swallow the bile and hold back the tears.

Footsteps approaching have him tensing; he knows who they belong to and they are not the shuffling echoes of Archie’s steps. FP’s presence always fills up a room, it’s powerful and sometimes violent, and while he has never psychically hurt Jughead, he has scared him. The drunken fuelled rages have had him hiding in his room with music blaring through headphones; it’s had him sneaking out into the back yard and up the ladder to the treehouse where he’d stay for hours, writing, crying, telling himself it’ll get better one day. It has upset Jellybean, enraged his mum, and he’d sneak Jellybean out too, together they would sleep in the creaky tree house, hoping that tomorrow things would change.

He knows that his father loves him and he isn’t a terrible person, he just makes bad choices and has anger issues and a drinking problem, despite all that Jughead believes that one day they’ll be a family again, whole and happy. It’s why he doesn’t pretend to be asleep when FP sits down on the mattress, resting a strong hand on his arm in an attempt to be comforting. Jughead doesn’t roll over to face him; he was content to stay curled up on his side, staring at Archie’s varsity jacket that hung on the chair. He has this horrible feeling that it was jock that raped him, it’s almost like he remembers seeing the blue and gold when of course he didn’t, he didn’t see a damn thing.

“I want to say I’m sorry about how I reacted earlier,” his dad said, voice softer than Jughead’s ever heard it before “I wasn’t angry at you Jug, I was angry that I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“It’s not your fault” he murmured, absentmindedly reaching out to touch the sleeve of Archie’s jacket. “These things happen.”

“Jesus, Jug.” He can feel his father shift closer, the grip on his arm tighten “These things don’t just happen.”

“But they do” he half rolled over to face his dad, anger twisting in his gut, boiling in his blood. “It happened to me. I was raped, and I have to live with knowing I wasn’t strong enough to stop it, that I didn’t do enough to protect myself.”

“Juggie, hey that’s not what I mean” he sighed in frustration, and Jughead turned away and curled further in on himself. “I don’t know what I’m meant to say here, I’m not your mum; I don’t know how to make you feel better.”

“Have you spoken to mum?” he asked, hating that she had to know, that this would reach her and Jellybean even though they are miles away and finally living somewhere that makes them happy and feel safe.

“I called her before,” he said, voice heavy “she’ll be here on Friday afternoon.”

“What about Jellybean?” The thought of his little sister knowing what had been done to him was too much; she was ten years old, the word rape shouldn’t be in her vocabulary.

“Jellybean is going to stay with your grandparents” he answered, “your mum thought it be best to not tell her what’s happened, not without your permission.”

“I don’t want her to know” he’d never lied to his little sister, he wasn’t the kind of person who liked lying, especially not to the people he loved but this was for the best. She was too young to understand; he wanted to leave her with as much innocence as he could, even though his was lost. One day when she was older, when the truth couldn’t be kept a secret he’d tell her, he hoped on that day he would be better, that he could say he survived. It didn’t feel like he was going to survive, he felt like he was drowning, sinking fast and deep in the sorrow and fear.

“Okay, we won’t say anything.”

“I’d like to be alone now” he was tired, worn thin, he didn’t want to sleep, to be dragged back into the nightmares but he wanted to be alone. He needed a reprieve from the madness of this day.

“I’ll come back up when dinner is ready.”

“I’m not really hungry” he mumbled.

“You’ve got to try and eat something” FP replied, giving Jughead’s arm one last squeeze before rising to his feet “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Fine” he muttered, burying himself further in the covers, wanting to be alone, to let the bitter tears and pitiful sobs out in private.

XxX

Archie doesn’t know how to feel, what to think. His world has been turned upside down, torn to pieces and he is terrified it will never be the same again, that this is unfixable. It was a party, it was a stupid party, and he was confused and angry about stupid things, so he let Cheryl stay, he went wild. Down went the beers, the liquor he stole from the cabinet, it was supposed to make his problems seem far away, make them scatter like ash on the wind. For a moment he enjoyed himself, he turned the music up so he couldn’t hear the thoughts looping in his head and he took Cheryl onto the makeshift dance floor and twirled her around.

Everyone was happy; they were laughing; they went wild with reckless abandon and fulfilled an American teenage rite of passage. It was only a party; no one should have gotten hurt; Jughead shouldn’t have been hurt. Archie should have kept his friend close, should have never let Cheryl and her need for trouble through the front door. He should have told Betty no, they didn’t need to have a party, Jug hated them anyway, but Archie so wanted an excuse to let loose, to feel like a normal teenage boy who lived in an ordinary town where bad things didn’t happen.

But bad things did happen, horrible events had taken place, and when Archie was looking the other way, ignoring the darkness, it claimed his friend. It stood in this house, it walked these halls and when no one was watching. When the music was thunderous, and everyone intoxicated it snuck out into the night, hunting for prey, a victim. Whoever it was, be it a familiar face or a stranger, found its prey and Archie didn’t hear anything more than the music blasting and the pounding of his heart. He didn’t hear his best friend; he wasn’t there when Jughead needed him the most.

He should have been there, he should have noticed something, anything, but it was too late now, like FP said, the damage was done. So where did they go from here? Archie doesn’t know what to do next doesn’t know if he can walk through the school halls or share a classroom with whoever is responsible for this. Already he had spent hours trying to figure out who would be sick enough to do such a thing. Was it someone he knew, who he bumped passed in the hall or lent a pencil too? Was it someone he considered a friend? He needs to know, to have a name to pin his rage too, a face to swing a fist at.

Someone had to have seen something, but if someone did see something that means they walked away, they let Jughead get hurt. He let Jughead get hurt. The least he could do is make sure whoever did this was found and punished. For the past half hour, he had been working on the list of names the sheriff requested, everyone needed to be questioned, but Archie didn’t know everyone who came. He’d really like to ask Betty for help; she’d tighten her ponytail, take out a notepad and not rest until she had accounted for everyone. He could ask her, make it vague but he was exhausted. He wasn’t prepared for her questions, and he didn’t want to slip up and admit the truth.

The truth he could barely admit to himself. He knows what has happened, what has been done to Jug but to say the word aloud would make it real, would cement it in place and he has this terrible delusion that tomorrow he’ll wake up, and everything will be fine. Today is a bad dream, a trick of the mind, a worst case scenario. It’s a nice fantasy, but a silly one too, this God awful day is real and a new day will not make it any less so. It’s happened, and he has to accept that, even if to do so feels like tearing out his heart.

Jughead was raped… he can’t undo it, he can’t make up for it, it happened, and it’s forever unchangeable. Acceptance opens a chasm in his chest, fills his throat with sobs and unleashes the flood that has been desperate to burst the moment he first heard Jughead admit what had been done to him. He breaks, he cries and sobs; it’s loud and ugly and leaves him hollow. His parents rush into the room, they try their best to comfort him, to soothe and brush away the tears but there are no words to make this better, to make any of it okay.

They can’t mend his heart anymore then he can mend Jug’s. When the sobbing has subsided to hiccups and the tears dry, he sags against the couch, holding tight to his mother’s hand and taking comfort in his father’s touch. He’s missed this, missed being looked after and soothed when the world became too big and scary. There is a trickle of guilt; he doesn’t have the right to breakdown when it was Jughead that was hurt, who was let down. Wiping away the tears and taking a deep breath to refill burning lungs, he forces the pieces back together, his best friend needs him, and he has already failed him once, he won’t do so again.

***

Archie hesitates in the doorway, balancing two bowls of homemade soup on a tray with one hand and using the other to knock. It feels strange to be knocking on his bedroom door, but he wants to alert Jughead to his presence, so he isn’t startled. Jughead rolls over, eyes red and haunted and tells him he doesn’t have to knock, it’s his room. Archie shrugs it off then makes his way towards the air mattress, setting the tray down on the floor beside the bed before sitting down himself.

He should say something, but what is there to say? He has already said sorry, and it’s not like sorry is good enough or will change anything. Instead, he hands Jughead the bowl of soup, which he doesn’t seem that interested in but he must be hungry, they haven’t eaten anything since this morning. Archie is starving, and he has missed his mums cooking and once he starts eating he begins to feel a little better, head a little less foggy. Jughead stirs the spoon around, takes a few mouthfuls then sets it aside. Archie doesn’t force him to eat anymore; people have forced enough things on him already.

Earlier today he’d wanted to wrap Jug in his arms and carry him out of the hospital, it was so clear he didn’t want to endure the examination, but FP and the doctor persisted. Archie had no place to tell them to stop, to fuck off. He could only offer to stay, to somehow make it a little less unbearable. Archie tried not to imagine the pain Jughead would have gone through, the fear, but the thoughts pulled at his mind and he couldn’t stop imaging what it must have felt like.

The thoughts make him lose his appetite; he sets the soup aside and shakes the flickering images from his mind. In time Jughead would open up, he’d tell Archie what he couldn’t say today, and it would no doubt be worse than his feeble imagination. For tonight he should focus on finishing the list for the sheriff, the sooner it was done, the better. Maybe it would make Jug feel better to help, it would at least get him out of his head, and Archie knew that Jughead could easily go to dark places and that was before this happened.

“I started the list,” Archie said hurriedly like if he didn’t speak now, Jughead would be lost in his mind forever, “Of the people who were at the party, for the sheriff.”

“Okay,” Jughead didn’t look up, fingers twisting the faded dinosaur sheets into knots. “I…” he swallows, “I wish I tried harder.”

“Jug, you did everything you could” Archie reassured. He doesn’t know how it happened, not the fine details but he knows Jughead, and he would have fought like hell. But even if he froze, even if he didn’t scream or say no or stop, it still wouldn’t be his fault. Archie would spend every day of the rest of their lives making sure Jug knew that, that he believed it.

“Did I though?” he finally looked up, blue eyes shimmering with tears and self-loathing. “There had to have been a moment, a split second where I could have pulled my beanie from my eyes but I didn’t. I could have seen his face, but I didn’t do anything.”

“You would have been terrified Jug,” Archie reasoned, “You probably just froze, let it happen without really wanting it too.”

The anger vanishes from Jughead’s eyes, in its place is a look of understanding, and Archie refuses to acknowledge it, accept that he might actually be a victim too. No, that’s not the case, Miss Grundy didn’t hurt him, the fear he felt with her had just been the fear of getting caught. It was fun, exhilarating and she cared about him, it wasn’t the same, it couldn’t be. Shaking the swirling thoughts from his mind, he retrieved the bowl of soup and continued to eat even though it had gone cold.

Thankfully, Jughead doesn’t say anything, he drops his gaze and wraps a loose thread around his quivering finger; Archie thinks if he gave it one good tug the whole thing would unravel. It would be poetic because he was riddled with loose threads, they both were, and if life kept tearing at them then sooner or later they would come undone.


	2. This is a Wild Game of Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this fic, left kudos and comments :) I really appreciate it! I will be updating once a week as this story is mostly complete :)

 

 _There's no surrender_  
_And there's no escape_  
_Are we the hunters?_  
_Or are we the prey?_

_This is a wild game of survival  
This is a wild game of survival_

**Ruelle - Game of Survival**

 

Morning brings chaos. At first, I’m unaware that the news of my rape has spread through Riverdale like wildfire. It’s dancing on everyone’s tongues; it’s being whispered on the way to school and over milkshakes at Pop’s, it has clawed its way to the iron gates of Thornhill. Later Archie and I will learn that Dilton Doiley overheard Mr Davis informing Principal Weatherbee and decided the news was too good not to share, by nightfall half the school knew, and by morning the jury was out. Without even hearing my side of the story, the majority of Riverdale High decided I was a liar.

I was seeking attention; it was a cruel joke; a twisted game conjured up by the bitter kid from the wrong side of the tracks. But the joke was on me, for believing I could have justice or at least something close. I would regret speaking out; regret painting an even bigger target on my back. I knew they wouldn’t care; I knew they were cruel; I should have anticipated this reaction. At least for that day, I was safe in the confines of Archie’s bedroom, but I couldn’t stay there forever. I would have to get up, go outside and face the world and the chaos unfolding around me.

**XXX**

Peace eludes Jughead; nightmares chase away the blissful nothingness, suspending him in the memory, twisting it into something monstrous. He wakes screaming, fighting off invisible hands, thrashing wildly in hopes of freeing himself from the heavyweight that pins him to ground. He breathes in the earth and spicy-sweet sickening cologne, he gags on it, chokes on the tears, the pain, and the ‘please stop’. It doesn’t stop; blood seeps into the grass between his legs, it hurts _, it really fucking hurts_.

The first thing he sees when the nightmare has cleared from his mind, the fog from his eyes, is Archie’s anxious gaze and tangled mess of red hair. Without thinking he throws his arms around Archie, hiding in his warmth, breathing in his scent in hopes that it will chase away the memory of violent hands and the sickly spicy-sweet aroma. It helps, but it doesn’t make anything better, Jughead still feels like a complete mess. The rest of the night he doesn’t sleep, he lies silently in Archie’s arms, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the break of day.

Morning doesn’t bring peace, he is miserable, exhausted but he can’t stay still a moment longer, he has to move, he needs to breathe. Jughead thinks about going to school, playing pretend and going about his life like nothing has happened, and the bruises on his hips and legs are just shadows, just a trick of the light. FP doesn’t allow him. When they are sitting down at breakfast, in the dining room which is reserved for special occasions and he is trying to eat porridge which he hates, he tells Archie they are going to be late for school.

FP tells him firmly that he doesn’t want him going today, and it’s probably a good idea because his body still hurts and he didn’t sleep enough, but he doesn’t appreciate having the choice taken from him. People keep taking away his free will, denying him the right to choose what he wants for himself,  _his body_. He isn’t being heard. He was ready to storm off, hide away once more in Archie’s room, but then Archie is asking if he can have the day off too and Fred and Mary say yes. Archie turns to him, a half-hearted smile on his face and says ‘awesome; we can play video games all day.’

Jughead returns the smile, swallows the anger and continues to eat, under the table he feels Archie’s foot against his leg, a comforting touch that he desperately needs. It would have been nice to have disappeared upstairs and played games like Archie suggested, only emerging when they needed food. They get as far as the bedroom, but there will be no video games this morning, chaos has awoken in the night, and it makes its presence known the moment Jughead finally looks at his phone.

There are over a dozen missed calls from Betty, two from his mum and a message from Veronica telling him to call Betty and check Facebook. Jughead doesn’t remember ever putting Veronica’s number in his phone, which is beside the point because clearly, they know something is wrong. Jughead also doesn’t have a Facebook account; he has two friends, one who he lives with and another right next door, he doesn’t need some stupid website to talk to them.

He should call Betty, ask her what is going on but he doesn’t want to deal with anything, doesn’t want to tell her that he was raped at the birthday party she threw for him. So he ignores them, tosses the phone aside and turns to face Archie, wanting nothing more than get lost in a game and forget the world awhile. That doesn’t happen though; Archie is looking at his iPhone through eyes burning with rage; the cell clasped so tightly in his hand Jughead feared it would snap in half.

“Archie?”  He doesn’t look up, too consumed by whatever is trending this morning. “Archie” this time Jughead says his name louder and he finally looks up, anger shifting into guilt, to sympathy, to rage again “Archie what is it?”

“They know… the whole school knows.”

He shouldn’t have snatched the phone from Archie’s hands; he should have let it go, shouldn’t have made it worse. He can’t stop himself though, without thinking it through the phone is in his trembling hands, a hundred poisonous words dance before his eyes. They know… they all know, and they don’t believe him. The word liar is repeated; people, who don’t know him say he is seeking attention, claim he is playing a game, it’s a revenge plot. It gets worse, it’s uglier the longer he looks, more people spill in with their opinions, they say he deserved it, that this is what freaks get, he had it coming.

It takes all of his willpower to not hurl the phone at the wall, smash it to bits in hopes that in doing so the words will vanish from his mind, from online. He feels sick, how did they find out so quickly? The sheriff didn’t even have the list of names, and the school couldn’t do any questioning, it was out of their hands. So who told? Who overheard and whispered a secret they had no right to share, who twisted the words and made everyone think it was a lie, a twisted game. Perhaps it didn’t matter who told the secret or how it was said, the students of Riverdale High have never liked him, why would they believe this or come rushing to stand at his side.

This would only make everything so much worse, if already the whole school thought that this was bullshit then what hope did he have of finding the identity of his rapist? This might mean that no one saw anything or if they did they would be less likely to come forward in case of social ridicule. This was a fucking nightmare. Discarding the phone he flopped down ungracefully onto the bed, curling up impossibly small. He tried not to cry, to not care what anyone else thought, he never did before. They’d called him a hundred names in the past, freak, loser, trailer trash, it shouldn’t hurt that they were calling him a liar, that they were saying he was probably asking for it.

It shouldn’t hurt but it does, it fucking does and he can’t hold back the flood, the sobs that rattle his bones. Every day he keeps breaking a little more, another piece falls away, and soon he’ll be nothing more than a shadow, a hollowed out space that was once a person. He can’t stop splintering, unravelling and it’s terrifying. He is losing control, choking on memories and gasping for air through tears, gut-wrenching sobs and blinding fear. He is suspended in horror, drowning in sadness that is alive and ravenous, roaring through his bloodstream and filling his mind with dark thoughts.

It feels like he is never going to be okay again like he should stop breathing, stop trying because this is hell and the afterlife would surely be better than this. If he gives up,  _gives in_ , it will end, his name will fade from everyone’s lips, disappear in time and he might find peace among the chaos. If he could stop crying, stop trembling maybe he could decide, choose to live or die, to escape, find a better world. This morning he doesn’t make a choose, the desperate need to vanish from the world dissipates when strong arms pull him close, nimble fingers brush away tears, and Archie tells him not to listen to them. They don’t know, they weren’t there,  _they aren’t here_.

He succumbs to the nothingness, Archie’s voice following him into the dark.

***

Jughead doesn’t have peace for long; he is pulled back into the world sometime later by his father appearing in the doorway. He says something that doesn’t reach through his foggy brain, but Archie must understand it perfectly. A moment later the space beside him is empty, Archie is at the door, handing FP a sheet of paper and the bag Jughead threw his clothes into the following day of the party. His father doesn’t say anything, simply turns on his heels and walks away, Jughead doesn’t know if he is sad or relieved.

Archie returns to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers running through already messy hair. Archie is restless; Jughead can tell that by the tension in his shoulders and the fidgeting, Jughead feels the same. He wants to move, to run, go someplace where no one knows his name. He wants to shed his skin, purge his mind of the memories, the nightmares and fear. If he had the strength he would claw the flesh from these bones; he’d run and run until there was no air in his lungs until his legs ached and buckled. He wants to hurt, to feel something other than the misery that sits heavily in his chest.

He wants to scream, for it to burst windows, fill every home, spread to towns miles and miles away. He wants to be heard, to be believed. There isn’t enough strength left in this body to shout,  _to roar_ , the fire that burnt fiercely inside has been doused, it’s nothing but ash now. No embers to reignite, no flames to stoke into a fire. He is broken, ruined, a fucking mess, and he hates himself for feeling this way. He’d been struggling through the day’s fine but now that he’s told, now the secrets out, everything hurts so much more. The truth didn’t set him free; it caged these fragile bones and foolish heart. 

He feels worse, so much worse and he wants it to stop, for the voices in his head to silence and the drumming of his heart to cease. If he could breathe, if there was something to grasp hold of other than the anxiety strumming through his veins and the pain left by brutal hands and violent thrusts, then he might be able to find hope. He is lost, sinking in a black sea and there is no light to guide him home, to show him passage to safe harbour. Archie isn’t enough, he wanted him to be, he really did, but this is too big, too much and Archie can’t hold him afloat alone.

He won’t ask him to do that. He needs his dad; he needs his mum, he wants to be surrounded by warmth and love, to have them chase away the nightmares and brush away the tears. It’s probably too much to ask, to hope for. This might be it; this might be the thing that finally ruins Jughead Jones. This might be the beginning of the end. At least today it feels that way, maybe tomorrow will be better; perhaps everyone will stop doubting him, stop saying he deserved it.

A brand new day might bring peace, but it’s a long way until dawn.

**XxX**

Archie tip-toes out of the bedroom, casting a glance back at Jughead who had only moments ago fallen asleep. Making his way downstairs and out the back door he heads to the shed, where Veronica and Betty are waiting for him. Betty had texted him half an hour ago saying they were leaving school and coming over to talk, they were distressed and confused and needed to know if the rumours were true. He found them sitting tangled together on the sofa, their usual bright smiles replaced with anxious expressions.

He doesn’t want to be the one who has to tell them what happened, especially since the party was Betty’s idea and Veronica encouraged it. There is no point in lying; he needs to get the words out, to talk to someone other than his parents who won’t really get how he feels. Betty will understand, she’ll hurt the same, and it’s selfish but he doesn’t want to be the only one is hurt and angry over this. Taking a seat across from them he takes a deep breath, opens his mouth and reveals the horrors of that night.

When he is finished Betty’s eyes glisten with tears, and Veronica looks ready to storm off in her expensive heels and stab someone, repeatedly. Silence falls over them; grief hangs heavy in the air; it’s almost suffocating. Veronica pulls herself together first, swallowing the stormy rage she turns her dark eyes Archie’s way, he can see the wheels turning, a revenge plot coming to life. Betty flutters her lashes, fixes her ponytail and looks to Veronica with iron determination. They are going to wreak havoc; they are going to rage and scream while they seek justice or indulge in revenge. Whoever hurt Jughead better watch his back, two vengeful angels are out for blood.

“We need to find out exactly what time it happened,” Betty said, struggling to keep her tone steady.

“Right” Veronica agreed “we also need to write a list of likely suspects, whoever did this is going to start sweating and sooner or later they might slip up.”

“The sheriff is going to bring in everyone from the party for questioning” Archie reminded them “one of them might have seen something.”

“But can we count on them to tell Sheriff Keller?” Betty asked, “Everyone was so tight-lipped when Jason was murdered.”

“They could also be afraid, and with half the school calling Jughead a liar, it might make them less likely to spill” Veronica pondered, burrows furrowed in thought. “We should do our own interviews, bring everyone to the Blue and Gold and interrogate them.”

“They might be more willing to talk to us” Betty agreed. “Is it wrong that I hope no one saw anything?”

“No,” Veronica said lacing their fingers together. “If someone did see it happening that means they walked away, that they didn’t get help and I can understand why that would hurt you” she looked to Archie, smiling sympathetically “both of you. But it would be better if someone did notice someone or heard something, for Jughead’s sake.”

“This is our fault” Betty sobbed, the tears finally escaping. “He didn’t want a party, and we forced him into having one, we let Cheryl stay and whoever did this to him obviously came with her. We are to blame.”

“Betty, this isn’t our fault” Archie tried to reason, but he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself, at least he could try to ease Betty of her guilt. “We couldn’t have known.”

“Archie is right” Veronica affirmed. “We can’t change this and punishing ourselves isn’t going to help anybody. We need to make sure that Jughead gets justice, if not, then we can say we failed him.”

“You’re right” Betty brushed away the tears, before picking up the notepad Archie hadn’t noticed was resting on her lap. “So who could be responsible for this?”

“My money is on one of the jocks, no offence Archie.”

“It had already crossed my mind” he revealed. “Whoever it was had to be strong enough to drag Jug to the side of the house and…” he felt sick thinking about, images flickering in his mind of a faceless assailant pinning his best friend to the ground, removing his clothes,  _hurting him_. “He would have had to be strong enough to hold Jug still.” Jughead must have fought, he must have thrashed like wild, or he could have frozen, became trapped in the fear and the disbelief. He might have let it happen when really he should have pushed, shoved, instead of doing nothing. Archie shakes the unwanted thoughts from his head, and focus’s his attention.

“It could have been Chuck” Betty spat the name out, it sits heavy and poisonous in the air.

“He is a very likely suspect” Veronica agreed. “Even if he is so straight it’s painful.”

“The entire football team is straight” Archie informed “excluding me obviously.”

“And Moose,” Betty said, pink pen tapping nervously against the paper “he’s a good guy though.”

“Everyone is a nice guy until you get up and close and see their demons” Veronica muttered “take my father for example. I believed he was a good man, but he is far from it.”

“So everyone is guilty until proven innocent?” Archie questioned.

“Everyone is capable until proven otherwise” Veronica clarified “this is a witch hunt Archibald, we’re not going to play nice, our torches are lit, and we are not stopping until the sick bastard is rotting behind bars.”

“This could get ugly” Betty warned.

“It’s already ugly” Archie snarled “the things people are saying are hurtful are cruel, and it’s only getting worse. Jughead is the victim here, and he needs protecting, we need to make them believe him. He needs support, even if it’s from people he doesn’t even know.”

“How are we going to convince them though, Arch?” Betty sighed, big blue eyes shining with hopelessness.

“I don’t know.” They had to though; they had to make the whole damn town believe Jug, make them stand beside him, it’s what he needed, what he deserved. They had to try, and they had to succeed, “but we have to do whatever it takes, for Jughead.”

For the boy, he loved, for the boy he failed.

**XxX**

Jughead screams himself awake, vocal cords shredding under the abuse, body trembling in fear, in memory of pain and violence. Strong hands pin him down, a familiar voice calls through the swirling darkness, he shakes, thrashes in a frantic need to be free,  _to escape_. The hands let go, eyes snap open to find a blue ceiling marked with spiral cracks and marks left by the glow in the dark stars that used to illuminate the night. It’s not the night sky; this is not the cold hard ground but Archie’s comfortable, warm mattress. The hands did not belong to his attacker; it is his father who sits at his side, expression troubled.

“Sorry” he croaked, throat aching from the abuse “bad dream.”

FP nodded, looking away, blue eyes travelling over the posters and knick-knacks lining the shelves. “I spoke to Sheriff Keller; he doesn’t think he’s going to have much luck with this.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jughead feels bitter tears prickle at the edges of his eyes, feels a swelling ache deep in his chest. His father is ashamed, he is sure of it, he must seem so weak to him. His father can command the attention of a room full of rowdy Serpents, he barks orders, and they obey, he says jump, and they ask how high. Jughead only ever gets unwanted attention, his voice unheard among the crowd, it’s why he stayed silent, withdrawn, an observer in the shadows. It suited him just fine; he didn’t like conflict, he had enough of that at home; there was enough yelling, enough fighting. If he didn’t have to raise his voice or swing a fist, then he wouldn’t.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t. He had tried, he raised his voice, he said no and stop. He’d tried to stop  _him_  from unzipping his pants; he slapped and scratched at the hands shoving his pants down to his knees. He made a valiant effort, but his head throbbed than he was flipped onto his stomach like he was nothing more than a ragdoll and when his underwear were torn off blood turned to ice, flesh to marble. Fear paralysed him, left him defenceless; it tightened around his throat and choked the scream from his lungs. It was the pain, the invading fingers that freed the cry from his throat but it didn’t shatter the fear.

He could have done more, could have removed his beanie and maybe if he saw who was pining him down they might have run away, they might have stopped but he was foolish, caged by the fear and he didn’t take his chance. It was too late once he was face first in the dirt, frigid cold air biting at bear skin, something solid pressing deep into his body. Did he surrender to his fate, lie there in the dark and accept that he was about to be raped, that no scream or cry for help would be heard? Did he let it happen? Did he deserve it?

“I’m telling you because I think you should let it go.”

“Why?” he demanded, heartbroken and sickened at his father’s words “Somebody raped me, don’t you care that they are still out there, that they could hurt someone else?”

“I do care, God, Jug of course I care” he tries to hold Jughead’s hands, but he pulls away, glaring at him with glittering eyes. “I want to take care of this; I want to make them sorry for what they did.”

“I don’t want you to do that though” Jughead softened; feeling foolish for thinking his father wasn’t enraged, wasn’t thirsting for blood. “You’re not a monster.”

“Well that’s debatable” FP sighed wearily “you, your mum and Jelly always deserved better than what I could be.”

“Then be better,” he said matter-of-factly, like after all this time all it would take is this one horrible event to make his dad change, turn him back into the father he remembered from the early years.

“I’m going to try” he vowed, with a small smile “but I need you to try and stay strong, don’t let the crap people are saying online get you down. They don’t know the truth; they don’t know you. You can get through this Jug.”

“It doesn’t feel like it” he confessed, fighting back the tears “I feel like I am drowning. It hurts to breathe. I feel so sick I can’t eat, and I can’t stop feeling afraid. I don’t know how to turn it off or make the nightmares stop.” He bows his head, hiding the tears behind the dark curls of his bangs, biting lips to repress sobs.

“Hey, come here” FP opens his arms, Jughead crawls into the embrace, burying his face in his father’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar leather scent of the Serpents jacket. “I’ve got you. You’re safe; it’s over.”

“It’s not though” he wept, shaking his head “it’s never going to be over.” In this dark moment he was sure it would never end, that ice and fear would not thaw from his veins, that the despair and grief would not leave his lungs, forever would stretch on and time would not heal these wounds. The darkness was surrounding, pulling him down into its murky depths, where it whispered, where it promised an escape. Drown, give up,  _give in_ and it might all go away. Stay, swim, stand and fight for another day and it might get better. He didn’t know which way to turn, sink or swim, rise or fall, the coming days he’d find the path he wished to take, for today he will float in the in-between, wait to see if there is an ember, a glimmer of hope or if there is just more darkness.

**XxX**

The following day does not bring reprieve. The twisted tales grows worse in the cover of darkness, lies and slander told beneath bright neon lights, stories whispered over milkshakes and fries. They spill out from the internet onto the walls of the Andrews’ home. The town has decided that this is a new, wicked game to indulge in. Who can tell the most elaborate tale, who can say the cruellest thing? The abuse reaches Jughead even though he doesn’t have a Facebook or any form of social media.

There is no escaping from the chaos; it is quickly becoming a game of survival. Survive the lies, the absurd tales, the darkness growing and festering inside his head,  _inside his heart_. Survive the pain from slow-healing bruises, from hidden injuries. Survive the memories, the disturbing nightmares and consuming anxiety,  _the paralysing fear_. It’s a wild game of survival, and he is losing and dawn has barely turned into day. Jughead doesn’t rise when Archie does, carefully stepping over him on his way to the bathroom. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t eat or acknowledge the people trying to comfort him, trying to save him.

He didn’t sleep a wink last night, not after he saw the new messages lighting up Archie’s phone and when someone sped by, hauling eggs at the house, he gave up on the idea altogether. He stayed awake in the darkness, listening to Archie breathe, stupidly scrolling through the hateful words exchanged by people he didn’t even know. He shouldn’t care, he never did before but never had his name been on so many lips, never had such attention been directed his way. He wanted it to stop, for them to go back to talking about Jason or who hooked up with whom. He didn’t want them to speak his name, to say he deserved it, to say they wanted to congratulate the guy.

He is foolish, and by morning the words are seared into his mind, they are there when he closes his eyes, they sit alongside the memory of glistening black blood. At some point he shuts off, there is a switch somewhere hidden deep in his mind, and with one flick everything stops. No more fear, no more pain, no more humiliation, there is nothing, all strings have been cut, all emotions set to silent. If the sky crumbled, crushing his bones to dust or if the ground shook and split open, swallowing him whole he wouldn’t flinch, he wouldn’t feel a thing. It’s stopped; he has stopped working, no cogs turning or engines whirling, no racing thoughts or painful memories.

There is just the numbness.

Not even the arrival of his mother can stir him back to life; eyes stare through her like she is a stranger, a phantom. There is no sensation of her touch, no smell of sandalwood perfume. When she speaks the words are nonsense, the world seems so very far away, like he is at the bottom of the ocean looking up, watching as the ships are dashed against the rocks, taken by the cruel sea. He hears their panic, their concern but at the bottom, he stays, suspended in the nothingness. 

**XxX**

Archie keeps staring at the list of names, stomach twisting and eyes sore from unblinking. Some of these guys are his friends, they’ve hung out after school, and on weekends, they are his teammates, but one of them has done an unspeakable act. One of them has broken his best friend, and until he knows who that someone is they are all enemies. No one can be trusted. On Monday he’s going to have to return to school and walk the halls with them, he has football practice with them, and every team member is on the board.

The entire school has seemingly turned its back on Jughead, choosing to believe the miss told tales and ridiculous lies whispered by people who don’t know the first thing about Jug. Archie can’t even look at his social media without seeing a hateful comment about Jughead or some gleeful remark about how he deserved it. The rage has him pacing the length of the shed, eyes never leaving the chalk board with its long list of suspects. Feet carry him restlessly from one end to the other, stomach knotting with each heavy step.

Someone he knows, someone he has shown kindness, spent time with, dragged his best friend into the shadows and raped him. He needs to know who; there needs to be a name to channel his rage towards, a face to hit, a person to punish. They need to be punished; they broke Jug, the boy he loves more than he’s ever loved, anyone. Jason Todd, Reggie Mantle, Bryce Danvers, David Harrison the list goes on, the suspects are seemingly endless. Jughead is so hurt, so lost and the bastard who did this is going about their lives like they haven’t just destroyed one.

Archie wants to believe that Juggie will be okay, that when FP and Gladys bring him home from the hospital, he’ll have snapped out of the catatonic state he’d fallen into. He wants to believe that next week things will be better, Jug will smile again, he’ll laugh and tease him and say sarcastic things, and everything will be okay. It’s just a dream, a foolish delusion. Jughead isn’t going to be okay come Monday morning; hell Archie isn’t going to be okay by then either. He doesn’t know when this ends when the pain lets up or if the anger will wane, will it slowly stop, disappearing day by day or will it always be there? A phantom, a dark shadow hanging over his head until the end of time.

It has to get better, there has to be a pivotal moment when something shifts, when the air can expand in his lungs and clear the fog from his head, and the sorrow and fury will ebb, and he’ll think to himself ‘I’m going to be alright.’ That day has to be on the horizon; there has to be an end to this misery,  _to this darkness_. In the meantime, all he can do is fight, is read the abusive messages and hope to find a whisper of evidence. He needs a name; he needs justice.

He wants penance for his guilt, for his failure to protect Jughead.

Archie has a feeling it will be up to him, Betty and Veronica to seek justice, to find the culprit. The sheriff can only do so much. Archie and the girls don’t have red tape or laws to abide too; they will not rest until there is a name circled on the board. He is going to save his best friend, he doesn’t know how, this is so much bigger than him than all of them, but he has already failed Jug enough this year, he won’t do so a second time. He’s going to start by setting everyone straight, they don’t have to believe him, but he will make sure the real story is known, not the lies or the misinterpreted truth. The truth will be seen in the light of day, and if anyone dares say that Jug is a liar or he deserved it, then Archie will make them regret it.

He is going to get justice for Jughead.

***

The sheriff arrives around noon; Archie is sitting in the kitchen trying to eat a sandwich his mum made for him, but the knots in his stomach and the lump in his throat make it hard to digest. Mary had called him in from the shed ten minutes ago, placed a ham and salad sandwich onto the table beside a glass of milk and told him to take a seat. He didn’t, he stared at her, trembling, choking on fear and imagining a thousand terrible things. Mary sighed, took his hand into own small ones and told him to breathe, sit; everything was okay; Jughead was okay, the doctors wanted to keep him overnight as a precaution.

It doesn’t make Archie feel any better; this shouldn’t be happening. How had someone hurt Jughead so badly that he shut off, that everything became too much, so he fell into a catatonic state? He didn’t really understand what was happening but it was bad, it was really freaking bad, and everything is getting worse. The sheriff walks into the kitchen with his father and the knots in his stomach twist, the lump in his throat closing over the words he wanted desperately to ask.

They haven’t heard if any evidence had been found on Jug’s clothes and though it’s a horrible thought thinking about what the evidence could be, he wants to know if there is at least something, a clue, a hint, an arrow pointing in the right direction. Sheriff Keller doesn’t divulge any information; he just wants to talk, to have Archie retell the events of the night before they start questioning everyone tomorrow.

There isn’t much to say, he didn’t hear or see anything, by the time it happened he was either passed out or on his way and even if he did see or hear anything he would have been unable to help. He hates himself for it, for getting so drunk, for letting Cheryl stay, for having fun, for breaking down. He is sorry, so fucking sorry but sorry isn’t going to fix this mess or find Jughead’s attacker. Before Sheriff Keller leaves the burning questions finally escape, he demands to know if he has found something,  _anything_.

He refuses to answer, Archie boils with rage, needing to run until he can’t breathe, to hit something until his fists are bloody, to scream and scream until his vocal cords are torn to shreds. Shoving away from the table, he dashes out into the cooling evening. Running, running, running until he is standing at the entrance of the hospital, gasping for air and struggling to stand. When he can move again when there is enough oxygen in his lungs and strength in his legs he steps through the sliding glass doors and makes his way towards the reception desk.

A few moments later he is stepping into a warmly lit hospital room, the afternoon sun filters in through the blind, casting its bright orange glow over the three silent figures. FP and Gladys sit on either side of the hospital bed; they look at him through weary eyes and offer weak smiles. Between them, curled up under the white blankets is Jughead, he appears to be sleeping and Archie is a little disappointed. He needs to hear him speak, see a glimmer of a smile, just a little something so Archie knows that it’s going to be okay, that somehow, someday they are going to be okay again.

**XxX**

The darkness explodes with memories; demons come out to play, to light hell fires and rake him over the hot coals. A faceless, shapeless monster follows him from dream to dream. He runs through Archie’s house over and over, hides in cupboards, under beds and in shadowy corners and yet he is found, forced to flee into the night. He runs; freedom so close he can taste it, but he never makes it, again and again, he is dragged into the shadows by the swirling darkness and his mouth fills with grass and blood and the world goes dark.

Screams go unheard; the music plays loud and cheerful; an unfitting soundtrack to the wicked, depraved things being done in the shadows. Jughead tries to escape, to fight, to beg and plead and shout for help. His reward is clothing tearing, cold air biting at exposed flesh and agonising pain exploding between legs. On and on the torment goes, around and around like a broken record, like a broken merry-go-round of endless suffering. If only the earth would collapse, fall away beneath his aching body, it stays solid, growing damp between his legs.

Eventually, it stops, the dream world is ripped away by voices calling from afar; he reaches blindly for them, holding on for dear life he follows them up, up, up and out of the dark. Reality trickles in, sharp pieces and bright lights slotting into place bit by bit, forming a picture of three tired, troubled faces and a white ceiling. Scent returns to him next, the clean, antiseptic aroma tells him he is in hospital, the sensation of the scratchy sheets and firm mattress confirm what he already knows.

He doesn’t remember how he got here, his mind is full of nightmares and twisted memories; it’s too much to go searching for an answer he can just ask. The hovering, crowding faces relax when he speaks, their eyes sparkle with relief, and he fears what has happened. Not that anything worse could have happened. He is pretty sure being raped is going to be the only one terrible life defying event he has to live through. His mum is the one who answers; her voice brings tears to his eyes. He’s missed her so much, and after the horror of the other night and all the God awful things that came after, all he wanted was to have her hold him close.

The tears fall without warning, a floodgate spilling open once more and he is sobbing and clutching at his mum before he can stop himself from breaking. She crawls onto the bed beside him, taking Jughead into her arms, whispering words of comfort and stroking long fingers through his tangled curls. The rest of the room fades away; the only sound is his mother’s voice and the broken sobs pulling from aching lungs and rising up a sandpaper throat. He cries;  _he grieves_  for the loss of his innocence, for the brutal loss of his virginity and for the boy he used to be.

He cries until he is exhausted. Until there are no more sobs to be heard or tears to be shed.

**XxX**

Jughead is kept in hospital overnight, despite wanting nothing more than to return to Archie, to feel safe in the mess that is their shared room. His sleep is interrupted by nightmares, waking is difficult after being dosed with Valium, and once he has fought his way out of the horror show he does everything to remain awake, only it’s a losing battle. The night is long and full of terrors when dawn breaks relief fills tired lungs and chases away the fear that had made home within his heart. Bathed in the morning glow, slumbering in the narrow bed next to the window is his mum. She’d comforted him throughout the night, drying his eyes and easing the panic with songs he hasn’t heard since childhood.

Today Jughead doesn’t want to cry, he doesn’t want to feel the sorrow or drown in the nothingness that had held him, hostage, yesterday. He wants to ignore the lies and slander that are spreading throughout Riverdale like poison. He wants; he  _needs_  to breathe, to fill his lungs with strength,  _with courage_. He needs to hold his head high and walk out of this place with a purposeful stride. The idea is terrifying, courage seems impossibly far out of reach, but he is going to damn well try. He is scared, he is hurt in the worst possible way and getting up out of this bed and stepping out into the world, onto the battlefield is going to be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

If he doesn’t try, if he doesn’t hold onto something, be it his family, Archie or his need to identify who did this to him then surely he is going to drown. The darkness had already taken hold of him; it’s hanging over his head, it’s the iron in his blood and the breath in his lungs. It’s ready, hungry and willing to take,  _to claim_  and Jughead is not willing to go down so easily this time. He has denied, cried, screamed and grieved and now it’s time to rise, to fight. Jughead is going to figure out who raped him, he needs to slay the shapeless beast chasing him through the night, and maybe then the nightmares will stop, perhaps the darkness will lose its wicked hold on him.

This isn’t about justice or revenge; it’s a basic need to know, to understand why. Why him? The answers might set him free, they might make everything so much worse, but nothing is as cruel as not knowing.  _He_  is roaming free, able to hurt, to break someone else, Jughead can’t live with that. So he is going to rise, he is going to be brave even though his lungs are filled with fear, heart heavy and sorrowful. He’ll fight the way he should have fought the other night.

He will play this wild game of survival, for his family, for his friends, for Archie and most importantly for himself.

**XxX**

The morning is long and overwhelming. Jughead is forced to spend an hour with a therapist before he can be discharged and he isn’t ready to talk about the night of the party yet, not in such an emotional way. Telling the guidance counsellor and Sheriff Keller had been difficult enough, but they only wanted details not the emotions that were attached to them. He did his best to answer her questions, to show he wasn’t about to fall back into a catatonic state even though it’s possible by day's end he could fall to pieces again. Jughead just wanted to get away from the white walls, scratchy sheets and noisy ward.

She allowed him to be discharged, though he was recommended to return for future sessions. He pretends he will, but in truth, he isn’t ready to take this step. He was still processing; it was a bit soon to start patching up the walls when he was sure more holes would be made over the coming weeks. At least there some good news to be found, his test for STD’s and HIV came back negative, he is filled with relief, only to have taken away when she said she’d see him Wednesday for a follow-up pelvic examination. He leaves the hospital with a heavy heart and a head whirling with thoughts. 

With The Andrew’s house now in sight, Jughead finds Archie waiting on the front porch, bouncing down the steps in a hurry to greet him before the old pick-up even came to a stop in the driveway. Slipping out the door before the engine had even been shut off he met Archie with open arms. He didn’t care about the eyes on his back, the nosey neighbours who were silently judging and deciding if they believed the tales that were travelling through the town. Archie felt safe again, he was the anchor Jughead desperately needed, or else he might drown in the black sea. The ravenous thoughts and swirling emotions were hands reaching up from the depths, trying to drag him back to the nothingness.

Not today. Courage was a burning ember within his chest, beating bright alongside the strength to fight, to hold on for dear life. He will not tremble, he cannot afford to stumble, the darkness is a living, breathing thing inside his mind and if the fire burns out, it will eat him alive. So he’ll hug Archie a little too tight, he’ll stand a little closer, he’ll allow himself to seek comfort,  _security_ , he deserves that at least. They walk side by side into the house, his parents following in their footsteps and Archie’s parents waiting for them.

They offer him food; they speak gently, words chosen carefully like they are afraid of breaking him with just one wrong syllable. It’s smothering; it reminds him that despite the renewed courage, the rekindled fire he is still broken in their eyes. Archie doesn’t act like he’s broken,  _ruined_ , he takes the plate of homemade brownies from Mary and leads them upstairs, where he shuts the bedroom door and switches on the PS4 like it’s a normal day. Jughead sits on the bed, chewing thoughtfully at the brownie that was practically shoved into his hand. Archie sits down next to him, resting the plate between them, and then sighs, weary, bone tired, the wind taken from his sails.

Absentmindedly Archie picks at the loose thread on Jughead’s jeans, pale knees peeking through the holes he cut there himself. Even with the swirling black cloud that sits heavy in the space between them, they are still wholly themselves. They might be grief-stricken, have lungs aching with sorrow and jostling thoughts racing through their minds, but in the quiet mess of their sanctuary, they are still Jughead Jones and Archie Andrews. Archie can sit next to him, can tug at the threads on his jeans and let fingers whisper over exposed flesh and Jughead won’t tremble in fear, won’t panic that these strong hands could leave bruises, could take what they wanted from him.

It’s Archie, nothing could make him fear his best friend and he is grateful for it. When other’s touch him it sends shivers travelling up his spine or stirs awake the bone-deep fear and he has to breathe, count to ten and remind himself that these hands are not going to bring harm. It’s mostly his father’s touch that sets panic searing through his bloodstream, the touch is strong, powerful and he can’t help but flinch and jerk away, hating the hurt he finds shimmering in his father’s eyes. It’s not his fault, it’s just a reaction, and the therapist told him that it was okay to have these reactions; it would be a long time before he felt like himself again.

She handed him brochures and printouts on how to cope with being raped, panic attacks and PTSD and she gave them to his parents as well when they had their private session. This was his life now; the new normal is waiting for panic attacks and expecting to find triggers while he walked the road to recovery. This is the life of a victim; this is what some faceless bastard has done to him,  _has made of him_. They took so much from him, and they left him rotting, left him with a chest full of fear, a body cold as ice and a mind unravelling. It makes him angry, it is fuel to the fire and determination, tomorrow or even by dusk he might splinter, he might shatter, but for now, he is going to hold onto the fury.

“Archie, I need to know who did this to me” the words are bitter on his tongue, sharp in his throat.

“So do I, Juggie” Archie replied, eyes burning with the same rage. “Betty, Veronica and I have a list of people we think could be responsible for this. We decided to take matters into our own hands the other day. I hope that’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine” he offered Archie a half-hearted smile “At least Betty, and Veronica believe me.”

“Of course they do, Jug” Archie declared “So does Kevin and Ethel.” He lowered his eyes, ducking his head in the way he did when he is about to confess to something he isn’t sure he should have done. “I got sick of everyone talking shit about you without even having heard the true story, so I told them what really happened. Not in great detail but enough to correct whatever story Dilton Doiley was spinning.”

“Thanks, Arch” he wouldn’t have had the strength to share the horror tale, not yet anyway, and even though he shouldn’t care what people believe or say he was hurt by what was being said. Though he is sure Archie telling them the truth won’t change anything, at least he tried. Archie always tries, and sometimes he messes up and gets it completely wrong but this was his way of taking control of this chaotic situation, Jug wouldn’t take that from him. “It might not change everyone’s opinions but thanks for trying.”

“I’ll do anything” he vowed, lifting his gaze to reveal the gleaming guilt and glistening tears “I’ll do anything for you.”

“I know, Archie” he whispered, lacing their fingers together. “You don’t have to be the one who fixes’s this though,  _who fix’s me_. I want you by my side through this, but you are not solely responsible for the wellbeing of my mental health. I’m not going to make you carry this baggage by yourself.”

“I would if you asked me to” he replied, lips pulling into a thin smile. “I will be by your side through this, Jug. I might not know what the hell I am doing, but I am not going to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Arch” he hoped he was right, that he could remain strong, remain afloat and not sink in the despair, drown in the sorrow and lose it all to the darkness. There were so many days stretching out ahead of them, so many hours, minutes and seconds between now and those promised better days. There were rivers and roads and miles and miles before he would even be okay, today he was just surviving, coasting along in the rekindled flames that could so easily burn out. He did need Archie to keep him grounded, to remind him to fight, to keep marching forward but he meant it when he said it wasn’t his job to fix him.

Jughead was the only one capable of putting the pieces back together, and in truth, there is a chance he’ll never be whole again, parts have been lost,  _taken_ and they’ll never be found or returned. He has to rebuild, learn who is left; find a new version of himself hidden within the rubble. The time will come for him to unpack the memories, the sordid details of that night and set them free into the world. They will taste like earth, copper and salt and maybe, hopefully as he speaks them he will feel a little lighter. One day he will find out what it’s like to relive that night, he is not ready for that today, he can only handle one thing at a time.

“Who’s on your list?” he asked, ending the silence that had fallen over them.

“I can show you? Are you okay to come out to the shed?”

“Yeah, I could use a change of scenery.”

Archie took his hand then lead him downstairs, out the back and into the shed. Jughead’s feet carried him towards the chalk board on their own accord, the long list names drawing him in, Archie’s hand slipping from his grasp. Trembling fingers traced over the letters, breath held in lungs and heart beating loud in a head whirling with thoughts. Beneath his fingertips could possibly be the name of the kid who raped him, who at such a young age had committed an unspeakable act. Or maybe to them, it wasn’t unacceptable; perhaps they truly believed they could take what they wanted, that the quiet, lonely ones were theirs for the breaking. Jughead was going to prove them wrong; he was going to make sure they knew their actions had consequences that they couldn’t have and break whoever they pleased.

“Jug, I know you don’t want to talk about it but did anything stand out?” Archie asked hesitantly, stepping towards him. “We need something to help narrow it down unless Sheriff Keller can find anything. Has he found anything?”

Jug turned away from the list, staring into Archie’s pleading eyes, he wanted to know as desperately as he did. He wished there was more to tell Archie, the Sheriff had stopped by the hospital yesterday, but he’d been trapped in the nothingness at the time, and the memory could very well be a dream. Jughead isn’t certain there is any evidence to be found, all he can offer Archie is this, it wasn’t going to be very helpful but it was something, it was a start. “I remember what  _he_  smelt like.”

Archie’s shoulders tensed, breath hitching, “Would you recognise it?”

“Yes,” he already had. He didn’t find the person it belonged to, but he had caught the scent in the hallway, one whiff and he had spiralled into maddening panic “I smelt it the other day… I freaked out and ran” he sighed, dropping into the old armchair where he drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. “It was the day I told you; I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, the smell of  _him_.”

Archie moved to the empty space by the board, staring at the names through a heated gaze “Well figure this out Jug.”

“We can’t exactly go around sniffing every guy in school” Jughead quipped lightly, wanting to ease the pain shimmering in his friend's eyes and deep set of his brow.

Archie laughed lightly, shoulders relaxing for a brief heartbeat of a moment “It probably wouldn’t be enough to have him arrested, would it?”

“No,” Jughead said “I don’t know that that they’ll be enough evidence to make an arrest. I shouldn’t have thrown my clothes out; I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, Jug” Archie closed the distance between them, Jughead moved over to allow him room to sit, but there wasn’t enough space, so he ended up sitting on Archie’s lap. “I’m sure there will be something.”

“Ever the optimist, Archie,” he praised, resting his weary head on Archie’s shoulder, “I should speak to my parents, I have a memory of the sheriff calling into the hospital yesterday, it could have been my imagination though.”

“We can speak to them together if you want?”

“I’d like that” it would be easier to hear the news with Archie by his side, with his hand to hold “On the subject of favours, I have to have another examination later this week and I was hoping you’d come with me?”

“Of course, Jug” Archie’s arms tightened around him, warm breath tickling at his hair “is everything okay?”

“Yeah, well as okay as it can be” he murmured “it’s just a mandatory follow up.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through that again” he whispered, voice sounding thick with the promise of tears “I’m sorry that this is happening to you… that  _it_  happened to you.”

He didn’t have the right words for Archie, there was a bitter response on his tongue, a sardonic remark but he swallowed it down, it would only be hurtful to them both. This wasn’t just happening to him, yes he was the victim, the one who was hurt and broken but the aftermath affected Archie too, it affected everyone who cared about him. His rape hurt those he loved, it darkened their lives, and it would stay with them forever. In time he would heal, as would his family, friends and Archie but _this_ had left a mark that would never completely fade. Jughead had and would endure the worst of it, but the nightmares, grief, anger and sorrow would spread to others.

They all had to survive the ugliness of the aftermath.

*******

It's growing cold, day descending into dusk, lights flicker on to chase away the approaching night, windows are closed to keep in the warmth and curtains are drawn to keep out the prying eyes of the things that linger in the dark. The sheds air is frigid, he and Archie should head inside to where it’s warmer, take a long shower to ease their tired muscles and sit down with their families for dinner. Instead, they stay, writing names on chalk board and searching through the cruel, ugly things being said online, hoping to find the one name that stands out.

It hurts seeing the awful things people are saying, it shouldn’t affect him so profoundly, but each hateful comment makes his heart ache, makes the flames dwindle. Archie keeps him anchored, doesn’t let the words stay too long in his mind. Whenever Jughead thinks he can’t do this anymore, Archie will encourage him, will stop him from stumbling back into the dark. It takes a few hours, but they finally have a new list of suspects, they have no proof or evidence to support any of this, it’s mostly just gut instinct and the cruellest comments that have won these guys a place on the list.

Chuck Clayton

Bryce Danvers

Jason Todd

David Harrison

Alex Martin

It’s short and sweet, and Jug could be completely wrong, all of these names might be innocent, but there is a knot in his gut and a lump in his throat that are telling him otherwise. The questions remains, it’s alive and electric in the air, it has the power to shatter his world all over again. A name, a face will make it all the more real, the shapeless figure haunting his dreams will come alive, it will hold even more power than it already does. He needs to know in order to start healing, to begin the long, tiring journey to a better time, to brighter days.

Healing will come painfully; it will be a battle that he has to fight by himself, though he won’t be alone, there are hands to catch him if he stumbles if he falls. There is a long winding road of recovery stretching out ahead of him, but before he can even start moving slowly forwards, he has to find closure. Find peace among the chaos that has overtaken his life, all of their lives. Recovery starts with a name, with a face and maybe if he is lucky, really fucking lucky he might get justice. The bastard who has crushed his world to dust might be punished; might get locked away where he can’t hurt anyone else.

He might walk free; he might always be there in the sea of students, smug with the knowledge that he got away with breaking the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. He could be protected by those with power, with money to make this disappear and Jughead will not get justice or closure. He’ll be the kid who cried wolf, who pointed the finger at one of the most cherished boys of Riverdale and labelled them a rapist. This story could end a dozen ways, it was still being writing, the pages unfolding and the words out of his control.

This wasn’t his novel; he couldn’t say what came next or choose the happy ending. He would get whatever ending fate was kind enough to offer, and so far fate had been cruel and uncaring. He might not have a keyboard to weave the ending he desired, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to sit back and let the cards fall freely. He was taking control; he would fight, he would rise and show this town that he wasn’t some stray, underdog that could be hurt, that could be  _raped_  without someone being held accountable for it.

Terrified, shattered, grief-stricken, none of these things would hold him down. Archie was by his side, and his friends had his back, they were ready for a battle, to draw the line and seek blood and retribution. If he found himself too scared, too heavy with sorrow to keep marching forward, then Archie would remind him to stay strong, to not give up. Tonight blood is blazing with strength, heart beating with courage and by dawn, it could be lost, taken in the night by the terrifying dreams. For now, he and Archie will plan their next move, they will head inside and Jughead will ask his parents if the sheriff has found any evidence and the answer will affect where they strike next.

This has become a battle, not just for justice or a name but for his life and if Jughead is defeated, if the war brewing inside his mind takes control, if the darkness wins then he might just lose his life.

**XxX**

With darkness settling over the town and coldness seeping into their bones, Archie decides it's time they head inside for the night. Taking Jug’s hand, he leads him away from the list of names that he had been staring at unblinkingly for the past ten minutes. He didn’t want Jug to get lost in his mind again, to slip away from him, when he tugged at Jug’s hand he snapped back into the present, offering him a brittle smile that was lost too soon to the sadness in his eyes. Archie squeezed his hand before leading them out of the bitterly cold shed and into the warm brightness of his family home.

The smell of roast pork greeted them as they entered; Archie’s stomach rumbled in hunger, they hadn’t eaten anything in hours. He was about to lead them towards the kitchen when FP appeared, eyes bloodshot and weary, Archie almost expected to find alcohol on his breath. When he spoke his words were clear, and Archie scolded himself for thinking so little of Jughead’s father. He just couldn’t trust anyone right now; this sunny, friendly town was suddenly filled with wicked people and darkness. When did the easy-go-lucky days end? Were they stolen the day he climbed into Miss Grundy car or had they been taken when Jason Blossom’s body was disposed of in Sweetwater River?

Was the very water they drank poisoned; was it turning men into monsters and blackening hearts? Where had their innocence gone? The days of running freely through the woods and riding bikes along train tracks as far as the border of the town went had been shattered. No more carefree laughter and sneaking out to spend hours gazing up at the sky through the skylight in Jughead’s tree house. Their childhood had been snatched away by cruel hands, stomped out under the heels of people they knew. Archie shakes away the thoughts, swallowing the swell of emotions, he is fine, he wasn’t hurt, it was Jughead, he was sad and angry because of what happened to Jug.

Nothing else.

“Why don’t you boys go get cleaned up before dinner?” FP is suggesting, and Archie realises he’s missed half a conversation. “We’ll talk about things in the morning, okay.”

“Fine” Jughead sighed, tugging at Archie’s hand as he turned to ascend the stairs.

When they entered their bedroom, Jughead dropped down onto the mattress, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders before curling in on himself. Archie felt helpless watching the dark cloud descend over his friend; there had been sparks flickering in his gaze today, burning alongside the need to find the person who hurt him so profoundly. Seeing them fade away to hopelessness has Archie scrambling for something to say something to offer so Jug won’t spiral and break. Tentatively he sits down near Jughead, hoping that at least his presence is comfort enough, there isn’t anything to say, no words will make this better, will erase the pain and sorrow.

“Are you okay Jughead?” he knows it’s a stupid question, the moment it’s spoken he regrets it, feeling like an idiot. Of course, Jug isn’t okay, there is nothing okay about any of this and nothing is going to be close to okay for a long time. Not even finding the person responsible for this will make things better; it could make everything worse, especially if they get away with it. He can’t sit back and do nothing though, Archie can’t rest, can’t breathe knowing that a friend, a teammate hurt his best friend. The guilt is killing him, that night is on constant replay and each time it loops around he finds himself shoving Cheryl out, slamming the door in her face.

He imagines Jug, Betty, Veronica, himself and the others playing board games and watching TV until late and nothing bad happens. Veronica and Betty still find their way to each other and Jug curls up next to him on the sofa, and they share a secret smile that reveals all that is not being said. It’s perfect, they are safe, and the monsters can’t reach them inside their bubble of happiness. It didn’t happen that way, and Archie can’t stop thinking if he saw something, if maybe he heard a scream or felt Jug’s fear then it would have ended differently, but he didn’t. Instead, he danced, played beer pong and had fun.

The guilt is eating him alive, and in truth, he doesn’t know how he’ll react when they find the bastard who raped his best friend. In the darkest corners of his mind, he wants to kill him, wants to find a gun and put a bullet right between his eyes. He has never felt rage like this before, never thought such vile things but he keeps thinking about how he’d like to end them. Or maybe death would be too swift; Jug had to live with this for the rest of life so why should the bastard who hurt him get away so easily? He doesn’t like these thoughts, the thirst for blood that comes with the swelling rage. This isn’t the person he was supposed to be, at the end of summer he was writing love songs and chasing girls now he is turning into someone dangerous.

“No,” Jughead replied, cutting into Archie’s troubled thoughts “Are you?”

“Not really” he admitted, pulling Jug in for a hug so he could hide the tears threatening to spill “But we will be.”

He can’t let the hatred harden his heart, poison his mind. If he and Jug are to have a future together, then he needs to be better, be so much better. Jughead has always been better than him, though no one saw past the punk rock clothing and sardonic humour, no one saw into his heart the way Archie did. No more wicked, murderous thoughts, no more teetering on the edge of the dark side, Jughead needed light, a stable hand to hold and a strong shoulder to lean on. This was his fault, no matter what Jughead or anyone said it was his fault that Jug was raped and he had to make this right.

He had to make this Goddamn right.

**XxX**

It’s late, and Jug can’t sleep, the promise of nightmares have forced him to stumble downstairs in the dark, quiet hours, the only sound the ticking of the clock and a dog barking a few streets down. The air is frigid, plumes of breath rise into the air before his face, teeth chatter, and shivers course through a tired, bruised body. He makes himself a cup of coffee then heads into the living room, sitting beside Vegas on the couch and bundling himself in a blanket. He knows he should be sleeping, letting his body heal and mind rest but if he sleeps, he will dream of dreadful things.

Better to strive off the fatigue with coffee and outlast the night then succumb to the twisted images flickering in his head. It’s cold and peaceful in the dark, Vegas is a solid warm weight against his side, and the coffee chases away the tendrils of sleep. He isn’t alone for long, approaching footsteps have him tensing, peering into the dark through panicked eyes in fear of what lingers within it. Out of the shadows steps his father, he sighs wearily and sits down next him; Jughead tries not to flinch at the closeness.

“Nightmares?”

“Just couldn’t sleep” he replied, sipping the bitter liquid “did I wake you?”

“I couldn’t sleep either” he admitted, tentatively draping an arm over his son’s shoulders. “I know I’ve never been very good at expressing how I feel, it’s you and your mum who have a way with words, but I am here if you need to talk.”

“Thanks, dad” he murmured “I’m not quite there yet, but I promise I’ll come to you if I need too.”

“Good, we’re not going to let you go through this alone.”

“I know” he offered his father a half-hearted smile, not that it mattered, the room was too dark to make out any features, the only source of light came from the waning moon filtering in through the curtains. “Did mum say how Jellybean is? I haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to her.”

“You’re sister is doing fine, she was disappointed that she didn’t get to come visit though.”

“I knew she would be, but I just don’t want her around this” He wanted to keep Jellybean far away from this nightmare, from this town that was becoming a dark and dangerous place to be. “I want her to hold on to her innocence for as long she can.”

“What about your innocence?” FP asked, holding him a little tighter.

“I lost the last shred of my innocence when I was raped” In the pale light of the moon he saw his father flinch, caught the look of distress flicker in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to sugar coat this, I can’t pretend or say it was anything less than what it is.”

FP looked towards the windows, eyes glistening with a thousand unspoken things, but he was not good with words, and Jughead could see he was having trouble accepting what had been done to him. He could understand, his father prided himself on being tough, and he hadn’t been strong enough to protect himself, he must be such a disappointment. The dark thoughts rise without warning, bringing with them bitterness and the prickle of fresh tears. It feels as though his father is ashamed of him, that it was easier to pretend he was just roughed up a bit, not forced to the cold ground and violated. These thoughts might just be his inner demons coming out to play, to wreak havoc in his foolish, fragile mind but in the late hours of the night, they feel like truth.

Hurt, biting back sharp, vicious words he rises to his feet in a hurry and flees from the room, from his father’s side. He silently returns to Archie’s room, slipping in under the covers and curling up impossibly small, fighting back the sobs begging to be set free and the tears wanting desperately to be released. He promised himself no more crying, no more descending into madness, he had to keep it together, if he gave up,  _give in_ , he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to come back from the brink this time.

 


	3. In the Heart of the Darkness

 

_You feel your body shake,_

_feel like a phantom wait_

_Here we are in the heart of the darkness_

_Here we are in the heart of the darkness_

_Hold fast we must be brave_

_In the heart of the darkness_

**Sam Tinnez - Heart of the Darkness**

 

When did the world become so cruel? What happened to the days where Archie and I used to spend hours in my tree hours, pretending to be something bigger and far grander than what our ten-year-old selves were? Did we reach a point when we started noticing the wicked things happening in the world and did, on that day, the wickedness notice us? We went from seeing magic and wonder in the world to fighting monsters, and these were not the monsters of whimsical fairy tales.

These were the true monsters.

They snuck in under the cover of darkness, disguised as friends, as teachers, as strangers with friendly smiles to hide the ugliness, their true nature. They walked right into our lives and tore it down, relished in the misery and pain they brought. The monsters could be anyone, a jock in a letterman jacket, a neighbour in a charming house, an ordinary teen passing through the world, hiding the ravenous beast that waited eagerly to escape, to indulge in wickedness, in cruelty.

I felt I had somehow invited _the monsters_ into my life, I teetered on the edge of darkness, of gruesome mystery and before I could retreat to someway safe it, _he_ took hold of me. They say if you stare into the abyss it will stare right back; I guess I looked a little too long and, so, I shouldn’t be surprised that it claimed me for its own.

**XXX**

Archie wakes with a groan, morning sun blinding him as it shimmers through the gap in the curtains that is inconveniently open at eye level. Sleep was restless, plagued by twisted dreams that felt far too real. He’d do anything to forget the horrors his subconscious conjured up, to erase the sound of Jug’s agonising screams and to scrub clean the image of a faceless person violating his best friend. When he’d woken, a scream on the tip of his tongue, he had to switch on the lamp and make sure Jug was still there; terrified he’d find him gone.

Jughead looked up at him through grief-stricken eyes; sleep was escaping both of them that night. Archie took in a deep, shaky breath that was so close to turning into a sob, into an avalanche of repressed feelings. He didn’t get to break down in front of Jug, not when he looked so lost, _so heartbroken_ , he had to remain strong. Later, he could break down later. Jughead came first, the way he should have the other weekend, the way he should have had last summer. Swallowing down the bitter tears and ache in his chest he switched off the lamp and laid back down, still trying to regain control of his breathing.

He isn’t sure how much he slept last night, he isn’t sure Jug slept at all, but now the sun is bright in his eyes and the smell of pancakes waft in through the open door. Sighing, he resigns to his fate and sits up, not so ready to face another day. Before he goes any further he turns to look down at his best friend, he is still curled up on his side, bundled in blankets, bloodshot eyes lifting to meet his. He mustn’t have slept at all; the dark circles that are always present are more noticeable than ever. There is a vacant look in his blue eyes, a profound sorrow that breaks Archie’s heart to see, then there is a flutter of lashes, and his friend is back, only he isn’t whole anymore.

It hurts; it breaks his heart all over again, mind flooding with the circling thoughts, burning with guilt, _with rage_. He has to focus on the murmured voices drifting up from downstairs and the alluring smell of breakfast to ground himself, to stop the spiralling thoughts. Keep it together; Jughead needs him to keep it together. Darkness releasing its hold on him gives him enough strength to return his attention to his best friend. Jughead hasn’t moved, the only difference is his eyes are shut, Archie hopes he’s fallen asleep, he looks like he needs it.

“Juggie?”

“Yeah?” tired eyes flutter open “I’m awake.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Not really” he replied, “I just can’t get my mind to shut off.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling” he admitted. “I had some weird fucking dreams.”

“I figured” he sighed, slowly moving into an upright position. “Archie, do you think my dad is mad at me?”

“For what?” he asked, slipping down onto the mattress beside him.

“For this” he shrugged, “for getting raped.”

“Jug, no one is mad at you for that” Archie reassured, shaking his head at the ridiculousness. “It wasn’t your fault and if your dad is angry at you then that is unfair, but I don’t think he is. I just think he is upset that it happened. I know I am, aren’t you?” Surely underneath the sadness, the pain Jug had to be angry, he had to fuelled by rage and thirsting for revenge as much he was, as much as Betty and Veronica were.

“I’m just really sad” he confessed, voice breaking. “I want to be angry or vengeful, but mostly I just want it to stop, to wake up and find this has been a really messed up dream that I’ll forget about the moment we step foot into Pop’s and I’ll know that everything is okay, that I’m okay.”

Archie chokes back tears, the building sobs, all he can think to do is reach for Jug’s hand, to lace their fingers together in a silent promise to make him better. To give them a day where they can walk into Pop’s and sit in a booth under the neon lights and order milkshakes and fries or doughnuts, whatever Jug wants. In the silence of the morning, with golden rays of sunlight glistening in tears, Archie vows to make everything alright again, to put the happiness back in Jug’s eyes and a sweet smile on his lips.

**XxX**

He wants it to stop, for the concerned smiles, the sympathetic touches, the carefully chosen words to just stop. It is making everything so much worse. There is no escape from it, from the fact he is a victim and every time he meets someone’s eyes he sees the word reflected back at him. He is a victim, they think he is broken, that he is fine bone china that needs to be handled with the utmost care or else it will crush to dust beneath their fingertips, and he will truly be gone, lost to this tragedy.

He doesn’t want to be a fucking tragedy; he doesn’t to be whispered about under the neon lights of Pop’s or in the hallways of the school. He doesn’t want people to be gossiping about him like he is a thing like he is their weekly entertainment. In time they will find something else to talk about, a new scandal will catch their short attentions, and he’ll be forgotten, name fading from their lips, from their social media accounts. The people under this roof aren’t going to forget though, they are going to hover and be careful with their words for God knows how long and he won’t be able to escape the pain in his chest, the war in his mind.

It’s almost as bad as the hate being thrown his way, it’s all an ugly reminder that he is ruined, changed irrevocably. The only way he can make it through the day is to focus on finding the person responsible for his unbecoming. Perhaps if he shows them, he is strong enough to hunt down his attacker they might stop treating him like a broken thing. It’s this or lose his mind and as peaceful as the catatonic state had been he doesn’t want to surrender, to let some faceless assailant destroy him.

Archie is the only one who doesn’t treat him like glass, after breakfast they head back out to the shed, to the list of names; they are still no closer to find their culprit. Archie suggests they talk to his mum since FP was nowhere to be seen this morning. Despite Archie’s reassurance he still fears his father harbours some anger towards him, that maybe deep down he blames Jughead for not being strong enough, for becoming paralysed in fear and not removing his stupid beanie when he had a flicker of a chance. He fears FP will never look at him the same again, that no one will. They’ll only ever see a victim, a broken boy too weak and pathetic to save himself.

Maybe he should stop fighting so hard to be strong, to keep it together. Maybe he should just let the tears come, let the pain tear him apart until there is nothing left but a hollowed out space where a boy used to be. It would be so easy to let go, to make it all stop, but there is a small fire burning in his heart and Archie is standing by his side looking at him with warmth, and he pushes away the urge, the dark desire to surrender to the war inside his mind. The swirling, ever changing thoughts leave him deflated; it takes a great deal of energy to head back inside the house to speak with his mother about what the sheriff had found.

When he steps in through the door he finds the sheriff sitting in the living room with his mother, clasped in her hands is his beanie, honestly wasn’t sure he’d ever see it again, wasn’t sure he wanted to. Sheriff Keller is asking them to sit down, it takes a few tries, but eventually, Jughead gets his legs to work and follows Archie to the couch where they sit impossibly close. Gladys rises, moving towards the window, her back to them and the worn out beanie clutched to her chest.

“Has something happened?” Archie asked, looking from Sheriff Keller to Gladys and back again.

“No, nothing’s happened” the sheriff replied flatly. “That’s the problem, none of the kids we’ve talked to have been able to confirm Jughead’s story, and we didn’t pull any evidence from your clothing either, I’m afraid.”

“So what are you saying?” a vice wound tightly around his lungs, the following words spoken making it constrict tighter and tighter.

“Are you sure something that you regret didn’t happen?” Keller inquired “maybe you and this guy had too much to drink, and something happened, but it’s not necessarily what you’re claiming it to be.”

“You think I’m lying?” He shouldn’t be surprised; of course, the sheriff thinks the kid from the wrong side of the tracks is lying. Of course, he believes the lies, not what he witnessed with his own eyes, not what was being said by the troubled youth. He knows he should feel anger burn hot and violent in his gut, he should rise to his feet and scream at the tops of his lungs, shatter windows and eardrums with his rage but he doesn’t even feel a whisper. He wishes for a storm to blow through him, for a hurricane, anything but the heavy despair.

“He’s not lying” Archie exclaimed “how could you even think that? Why would he put himself through all of this if it was just some mistake? He isn’t vindictive or cruel or a liar” he shot to his feet, voice rising and face turning as red as his hair. “No one is saying anything because they don’t take you seriously; you can’t even solve Jason Blossom’s murder so why should they give you honest answers?”

“Archie!”

Jughead startled, turning to find Mary in the doorway, staring down her son but he wasn’t going to be silent, Jughead could see the rage burning in his gaze. If he couldn’t rage, if he couldn’t unleash the storm then Archie would, he’d be his reckoning, _his protector_.

“Jughead was raped, and it happened right outside our home, and no one did anything to stop it, but it fucking happened” he was bellowing now, tears streaming down his face “and you aren’t doing anything to make this right.”

“Archie” Jughead got to his feet, placing a tentative hand on his best friends shoulder, feeling the tension ebb beneath the touch. “It’s alright, let’s go for a walk.” He had to half drag him from the room, he wasn’t sure where they would go, but he knew they couldn’t stay. They needed to escape, to breathe, to find somewhere they could hide away from the world and all its cruelty.

***

The world is spinning around Jughead at a lazy pace, the cold metal of the roundabout seeps through his jeans, the spinning stops abruptly. Jughead takes in a deep breath; the cold air hurts his lungs and waits for Archie to finally speak. He is sitting on the opposite side of the roundabout, back pressed against his, Jug wished more than anything that he could see the expression on his friends face. They’ve been here for a while now, despite the chill in the air and the looming grey clouds. It’s been years since they’ve played here, Jughead remembers that Archie broke his arm here on his tenth birthday.

The spinning starts up again, slow, almost leisurely, but Jughead knows that Archie is not relaxed; they are revolving around on anxiety. He hasn’t said a word since leaving the house; they walked side by in silence, Jughead leading the way to the old playground with its memories of skinned knees and carefree days. Under the darkening sky, with paint chipped with the passage of time it feels gloomier than ever, the bright, warm sunny days lost like their innocent youth. Around and around they go, spinning on the memory of laughter and light.

Jughead doesn’t know what to say to Archie, he can’t tell him that it’s going to be okay because he really isn’t sure that it will be okay, that he will be. He knows he promised Archie that he wouldn’t lose him and he’d do everything in his power to uphold that promise, it’s just so God damn hard right now. The ever changing moods and shifting thoughts are overwhelming, every time he grasps hold of one thing it flutters free and in its place is either a burst of hope or cloud of darkness.

Having the sheriff question his sincerity shattered the fire he’d been carefully nurturing. Having a bunch of teenagers call him a liar or say he deserved it was one thing, having the person with all the power to help him turn against him was too much. Honestly, though he should have anticipated this, he was a Jones, he was no good and of little importance to this town so why should Sheriff Keller believe him when the rich kids with fancy houses and large bank accounts said otherwise.

Archie had tried. Archie believed him, and Jughead never doubted that he wouldn’t, but he didn’t see or hear anything, so he couldn’t be of any use in the investigation. Jughead might have to accept defeat, bow his head and walk shamefully off stage, the show was over. There was no proof that could lead to a name, and even if Jug could identify _him_ by scent, it wouldn’t change anything. He’d go free, walk the school halls knowing that he’d gotten away with it and _he_ could do it again.

 _He_ could do it to him again.

The thought turns blood to ice, strangles the air from lungs and brings blinding tears to his eyes. He leaps from the roundabout, struggling a few feet before collapsing to his knees, choking on panic, on the fear that he has been suspended in for days. When Archie asked him if he was angry this morning he revealed that he wasn’t, he was sad, but he didn’t mention how terrified he was, how the fear had become a living beast inside his chest. The thoughts have awoken it, the memory of the rape unleashes a tidal wave of emotions, the beast roars and he is overwhelmed with fear, it digs its claws in, and the tears fall.

“Hey, Juggie, hey” Archie is at his side, folding Jug into his embrace. “What happened?”

“He’s still out there, Archie” he sobbed, falling apart in the most painful way. “He’s still out there, and I am so afraid. I can’t turn it off, I can’t make it stop” hysteria creeps into his voice, body trembling, threatening to shatter to pieces, to dust that will blow away in the Autumn winds. “I want it to stop; I need it to stop.”

“It will, Juggie” Archie held him tighter, they had fallen into a tangled heap of limbs “I don’t know when but it will stop, it will get better.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do,” he said firmly, easing back and cupping Jughead’s face gently, so they were eye to eye. “I know it will get better because you are strong enough to get through this and I will be by your side every step of the way. No matter how messy things get, no matter what people say, I believe you, and I am not going to rest until we have a name circled and you can sleep knowing that bastard can’t hurt you again or anyone else.”

Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs with Archie’s courage, _with his love_ , exhaling the panic, the madness. “Are you going to be my hero, Archie Andrews?” he quipped feebly, needing an almost normal moment.

“You don’t need one” he replied, brushing a few dark curls from his eyes “you’re going to be your own hero, I’ll be your Robin.”

“I see you more as Captain America, but I get your analogy” the darkness lifted, the beast chased away by the love and devotion in Archie’s eyes.

Archie leant forward, letting their foreheads rest together, plumes of breath mingling together in the crisp air and if this was another day, another time perhaps Jughead would have closed the space between them, maybe he would have found the courage to finally kiss the boy he’d longed for. If things were different, if he wasn’t cold with fear, mind whirling with memories and body still echoing with _his_ touch then this would have been the perfect moment to be brave, to take a chance and whisper his lips across his best friends.

There is no courage, not to do something that could possibly drive Archie away or ruin their years of friendships and right now he so desperately needed Archie. Like so many other times he pushed the feelings aside, locking them away before they could do irrevocable damage. He was fragile right, seeking comfort in ways he shouldn’t be, and Archie was so willing to do anything for him that he might kiss back out of fear of crushing him further. Archie Andrews may or may not have feelings for him; Jughead has found him staring, eyes dark and curious but not anymore, because there was no way Archie wanted _his_ leftovers.

Untangling himself from his friend's lap, Jughead rose on unsteady legs and paced over to the swing set, the chains shrieking as his weight landed in the seat. Archie followed him over, sitting next to him, kicking at the dirt with restless feet. Silence falls over them; above them the sun is lost to the thick grey clouds, turning the playground into a foreboding place. It’s time to leave, to return home and try, try so very hard to make it through the nightmare that has become his life.

**XxX**

Archie always feels awkward in Betty’s room, everything is so neat and tidy, and he is scared that he’ll get mud on the carpet or that Alice will stride through the door and kick him out for taking up too much space. Today is different though, everything is different, and though her room is immaculate Betty herself is dishevelled, big blue eyes shimmering with sadness and her trademark ponytail has been forgotten. Archie sits next to her on the bed; her gaze is focused on the window facing his bedroom, where Jughead had disappeared to after they arrived home, hiding under the covers and hopefully sleeping at last.

Archie had let him be, today had been hell, the last week had been hell, and things kept getting worse. This nightmare wasn’t ending and each day brought new miseries. It’s why he went to Betty, they had to do something; they had to make Sheriff Keller believe Jughead. The fact he thought that Jug was lying or overreacting about a drunken, foolish mistake made him burn with rage. It awoke the darker side of him; it made him want to lash out, to hurt someone worse than they hurt Jug. This whole Goddamn town was turning a blind eye; they were choosing to ignore the truth because it was easier than calling into question the stories of the ‘exemplary youth’.

Jughead was not a liar, he wasn’t going to go out of his way to destroy someone even if after all the crap they’d put him through. He’d been hurt, _he’d been raped_ , and the pain and sadness were consuming him, but Archie would be damned if he let Jughead drown. He deserved to have justice, Archie would damn well make sure of that and Betty and Veronica would do anything to help. As heartbroken as they are, they can’t let it stop them, they have to pull it together, push aside their sorrow and swallow their pain so they can make this right.

“I can ask V and Kevin to meet us at the Blue and Gold tomorrow” Betty suggested, “we can do our own interviews, bring in the kids from the party and find out what they really know.”

“That’s a good start,” Archie agreed “I also have a terrible idea.”

“What is it, Arch? We might actually need some terrible ideas.”

“Jug said” he paused, the words suddenly becoming thick and sharp in his mouth. Juggie knew what _he_ smelt like, he knew what fragrance _his_ cologne was because _he’d_ been on top of him, _he’d_ been _inside_ him. Archie shivers as the thought ripples through him, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat. In this moment he can’t help thinking about how much it must have hurt, God Juggie had been all alone, he had to pick himself up and walk inside and deal with the pain and _the mess_. He wants to be sick, to hit something until his fists are bloody, he wants to break apart and weep for days because this hurts so fucking much.

Betty is touching his hand and Archie is biting back the tears and forcing back the bitterness in his throat. Betty envelopes him in a hug, and that’s all it takes to lose the fight, to let the damn burst and he is sobbing violently, shattering to pieces in Betty’s embrace. It feels like an age until he can breathe until the tears and broken sobs have subsided, and he can leave her arms, meet her eyes and answer her question with a hoarse voice.

“Jug said he could recognise his cologne.”

“Oh God” Betty gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth like she was going to be sick, he could only imagine his earlier thoughts were rattling around her head. “So he could potentially identify him?”

“Yes, but I’m scared of what it could do to him” he confessed “it might set off a trigger and he’s really… he’s not good right now, Betty.”

“And facing off with his attacker probably isn’t the right thing for him to be doing,” Betty said, understanding Archie’s train of thought perfectly. “Let’s leave it as a backup plan. Tomorrow we interview everyone, and if that gets us nowhere, we’ll ask Jug if it’s something he can handle.”

“Sounds like our best bet.”

“Is Juggie going to be at school tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure, is it bad?”

“It is on social media” she answered, fingers curling tightly to dig into the soft flesh of her palms. “I can’t believe what people are saying. It’s so pointless; they are acting like this is a personal attack on them when the only person who’ll get trouble is the guy who did this. I don’t get why they are being so cruel to someone they don’t know. And I’m scared that if he does come to school, the jocks will start trouble or what if _he_ tries to hurt Jug again, Archie? There is a rapist walking the halls freely, and he knows he’s getting away with it, he is seeing that the kids are saying Juggie deserved it and I am terrified. It’s basically saying what he did was okay, that it didn’t ruin Jug’s life and he can do it again.”

“We aren’t going to let anyone hurt Jug, not again” Archie vowed, taking her hands into his own “But Betty, Juggie isn’t ruined, he is hurt and really sad and scared, but we can’t say things like that, especially to him. We’re going to get him through this; he is strong enough to come back from this.”

“Oh, Archie” Betty sighed, bottom lip trembling the way it always did when she was about to cry, “you are right, he isn’t ruined, and I believe that he is strong enough to make it through this, but he might never be the same again. We might have lost a piece of our friend forever.”

Archie bits back the harsh words that threaten to escape passed tightly sealed lips, seep through clenched teeth. Betty is possibly right, what happened to Jughead is life changing, it’s earth shattering and when he looks at his best friend he can see the splinters, the stolen pieces. But he will heal; Archie would find the missing pieces. He has to, because if he can’t make Jug whole again, if he can’t put the sharp, jagged pieces back together then how will he ever going to be whole again? Jughead is his other half, two sides of the same coin Jughead would say, two flames burning bright against the dark and if one of them is broken then so is the other.

He’d told Jughead he’d get to be his own hero, that he’d be the one to save the day and right the wrong and Archie would love for that happen, at the time he believed it could be possible. Now with Betty’s words playing in his head, with his heart heavy with sorrow, he fears he might be wrong. Maybe, just maybe neither of them will be strong enough to survive this. No, he won’t believe that. He shakes Betty’s words from his head and shoves the darkness out. He is not going to give into the swirling mess of tangled thoughts or Betty’s fears that Jug isn’t going to ever truly be okay, he knows Jug better than that.

“You’re wrong, Betty” he exclaimed, rising to his feet and getting ready to leave. “Jughead is a survivor and yeah he is a victim too, but that’s okay, it’s not an ugly word or a bad thing. In time we’ll get him back, he needs our help, our support and our love. Can you give him that? Can you look at him and see our friend, not the thing that happened to him? Can you stand by him no matter if he is angry or sad or pretending nothing hurts by saying sardonic things? Because he is going to Betty, he is going to throw the word rape around and say completely inappropriate things, but he gets to because he was the one who has been violated. If you can’t handle any of this or you don’t believe he is brave enough to get through this, then I need you to stay away.”

“Archie, I’m sorry, of course, I will be by his side,” she said taken aback by his outburst, eyes glistening with tears. “He is my friend too, Arch, I’m not going to abandon him. We let this happen; we have to make it better.”

“Yes, we do” he sighed, strings cut and fire fading to ash. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

“We’ll meet you at the Blue and Gold before first bell” Betty offered him a half-hearted smile, trying to ease the tension between them. “We’ll walk through the fire together, Arch.”

Archie mirrored her smile then turned to leave, heading back home, to Jughead.

**XxX**

It’s getting late; the days are passing by too fast; night and the promise of nightmares are rapidly approaching. The day has been bleak, the moment he and Archie made it home the sky cracked open, drenching the town below in the frigid water. When he woke an hour later the smell of damp earth drifted in through the window on the cool breeze that lazily ruffled the curtains. The smell once beautiful now trigged a primal panic; throwing the covers over his face he buried himself deep, praying the chaos inside his chest, inside his mind would not consume him.

Outside chimes sang in the wind, a branch scraped lightly against the window and floorboards creaked with approaching footsteps. It wasn’t Archie coming into the room; the steps were too heavy, too purposeful, it was his father. He didn’t emerge from the hiding place, only burrowed in deeper, steadying his breath in hopes of being left alone. Jughead didn’t want to see his dad, couldn’t handle the vivid disappointment glistening in his gaze. He hadn’t spoken to either of his parents since coming home; he feared his mum would believe Sheriff Keller over him, that it would be easier to pretend he was lying, so they didn’t have to face the ugly truth.

“Jughead.”

He can feel his father’s gaze burning through the mountain of blankets; can sense that he is at the edge of the mattress, hovering above him. The sensation makes him uncomfortable, makes it hard to breathe and has images of a faceless person standing over his trembling, bruised and bloody body flickering behind closed eyes. Safe Haven swept away, he throws the covers off and moves into a sitting position, not lifting his gaze or offering a word to his father. FP sighs and seats down on the floor beside him; Jughead still refuses to meet his eyes.

“Your mum would like to talk with you.”

“Does she think I’m lying?” the words are bitter in his mouth, tears teetering dangerously on lashes.

“C’mon, Jughead, you know us better than that” FP reasoned.

“That’s not an answer” he snapped, shooting a dark look his way “do you believe me?”

“Yes, Jug, we believe you” he reassured, trying to offer his son a comforting touch only to have him jerk away. “Your mum just wants to talk about some things, okay? Can you give us ten minutes?”

He sighed, blinking back the endless tears. “Fine” he muttered, untangling himself from the sheets and storming off, stomping down the stairs and into the dining room where his mother waited for him; once seated he drew his knees to his chest, shivering in the cold afternoon. Resting on the table by Gladys’s elbow was his beanie; it seemed foreign to him now, a painful reminder rather than a security blanket. A sudden urge to set it alight floated up from the dark recesses of his mind. For a heartbeat of a moment, it seemed like a satisfying action to take, but it fluttered off just as fast it came. He couldn’t destroy that stupid thing, it was a part of him, and he’d lost enough of himself already.

“Sweetheart, are you listening to me?”

Jughead looked away from the beanie, fingers flexing in desire to grab it, to put it on and show _him_ that he may have stolen his virginity, his pride and happiness but he didn’t get to take everything. Meeting his mother’s eyes the butterflies of rebellion are crushed, wings torn off and body nothing more than guts and bones. She sighs, FP shoots him a look that screams ‘listen to your mother’, and he obeys, admitting that he hadn’t heard one word spoken.

“I want you to come back to Toledo with me, baby.”

“Why?” he asked with a half-hearted shrug “I’m still going to have been raped there.”

Green eyes flood with glittering tears; she blinks them away and runs quivering fingers through her messy, dark locks. “Forsythe, please, we are trying to protect you.”

“It’s a little late for that” he snapped bitterly, a rage he hadn’t felt in years burning hot in his gut, racing through his veins. They wanted to protect him but it was too late, it didn’t get worse than this, no matter what anyone said or believed it wouldn’t be as painful, as terrifying as being raped. The kids could tell their tales, throw hateful comments his way, the town could call him a liar, say he deserved it, that he was crying wolf, it didn’t matter because nothing was going to be worse than what had already happened.  They couldn’t protect him, not from what had happened and not from what was coming next, not even Archie could save him from the coming storm.

He’d either go under, a ship lost at sea or he’d stay afloat long enough to see the bright white light showing him passage to safe harbour. He was the only one who could keep the ship from running ashore and dashing against the rocks. Archie and the others could help but he was the captain of this damned ship, and every good Captain needed a beanie. Arms reach out on their own accord; trembling fingers wrap tightly around the worn fabric before the courage can blow away he places it back on its rightful spot, once more he is a king with a broken crown.

“I’m not going to run away,” he said, words soft, letting the anger fade, knowing his parents don’t deserve it. “I know you are only trying to help me but leaving isn’t going to fix anything. It’s not going to make the nightmares stop, or whatever symptom of PTSD is going to appear next any less awful. I know I’m not okay, that everything is different and it’s not going to be the same, but if I leave, if I run then I’ll always be running. Running from this town, running from _him_ and I can’t walk away knowing that I could have done something to protect someone else from this” He gestured inward, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on his parents.

“Please, let me stay?” he begged voice thickening with the swell of emotions, eyes shimmering with tears and heart beating fast “Let me be brave because I haven’t been, because I need to be. Let me fight the way I should have, the way I know you wished I did” he looked at his father when he said this, words unsteady, a hurricane coming to life under cold skin. “Let me find out who he is because _he_ took _everything_ from me, and I don’t want to be chased by a faceless ghost for the rest of my life” closing his eyes, he holds back the storm “Please, I need to try _, I need to try_.”

There is no holding back any longer, the hurricane blows through him, unleashing tears and ugly, jagged sobs that rattle and shake his bones. He’d tried so hard not to cry, to keep it together, but it’s just too hard, this is all just too much, and there is no point pretending he isn’t in pieces; that his mind isn’t in ruins. So fuck it, he’ll cry, he’ll break and sob and scream. He’ll fall apart in the most painful ways so in time he can come together again. Healing never comes easily, it’s a long road to recovery and running now could mean he might never heal and he wants so desperately to feel better, to have a far off Sunday when the first flowers of spring have bloomed and he feels okay, he feels better.

Archie believed in him; he believed he could be his own hero so Jug would try, he’d stay and uncover the truth, step into the darkness and hopefully come out alive.

He’d stay, gather all his courage and most importantly, he’d be brave.

**XxX**

Walking into school has never been easy, there were often jocks to trip him up or throw stupid, cruel comments his way; he’d walk it off, throw a snide comment back and continue on like nothing happened. They were idiots and outside of this small, insignificant town with its sticky secrets and bloody history they were just as unimportant has he is. The jocks and cheerleaders ruled these halls, they had brand new cars and parents that bought them out of trouble and sent them away too far off colleges in the big cities where they would quickly learn that their reign was over. One day they’d know what it was like to be seen as less, as a spec on someone’s radar. Jughead didn’t care what people thought about him so if there was a day when he escaped this town and the darkness that dwelled in it, he wouldn’t be bothered when the brighter and better people ignored him.

This morning was different though, heads swivelled wherever he went, whispers and murmurs following him through the halls, all the way to the Blue and Gold. He tried his best to ignore it, to pretend he didn’t care about the snickers, the muttered insults, this kind of behaviour had been his entire high school experience, why start caring now. Archie bristled with rage, he hadn’t learnt to duck his head and keep marching forward because if you listen, if you stop they’ll eat you alive. The words will burrow deep, and over time they will grow into hate or sorrow, and it will push you to madness, to breaking point. It’s why he tried not to listen, to not allow the words to crawl under his skin where they would fester and grow, eventually killing him.

When his mum left this morning, needing to return to work, to Jellybean, he’d promised her he’d stay strong, that he’d be alright. He vowed to hold it together, to make it through this day for her. No tears, no choking on the panic or shattering apart under the immensity of it all. He’d duck his head, takes Archie’s hand and tries his very best to ignore the stares and the hushed whispers. He’ll find a sliver of bravery and walk through the halls, go from class to class and not break under the fear that is the ice in his blood and the knots in his stomach.

In truth, he is terrified, _terrified_ of breathing in that sickly spicy, sweet scent and lifting his gaze to find a pair of green or brown or blue eyes and the blank space in his mind will become an actual human being. The monster in his head will have a name; will become more than a silhouette haunting his dreams. What happens after he is unsure, there will be a name that makes him ill, a face belonging to a person who so easily tore him apart, who violated him and walked away like he hadn’t just destroyed a life. It’s terrifying not knowing, and it’s going to be just as frightening to know, there is no real winning here, there’s just going forwards.

Taking a deep breath, he follows Archie into the classroom that is the Blue and Gold, waiting inside is Veronica, Betty and Kevin. Feet nearly stop carrying him forward, he hasn’t seen anyone apart from Archie and their families since he finally spoke of what happened. Seeing the sorrow, the sympathy in his friend’s eyes makes him uncomfortable. Archie leads him over to them, Jughead tries to meet their eyes but the pain he finds reflected back at him has him dropping his gaze to the floor.

Silence stretches out between them, heavy and thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions. No one really knows the details, he hasn’t opened his mouth and told anyone how the grass was cold and itchy against his bare legs, how the dirt seeped under nail beds, and that blood gleams black in the moonlight. He hasn’t said that it hurt so fucking much. That _he_ was big and it was like being torn apart, when he came deep inside him it felt horrible, it all felt so _disgusting_. He hasn’t ‘it felt like a part of me died that night.’ the words ‘There are all these pieces missing, and I don’t think I’ll be whole or feel clean or undamaged ever again’ have remained held behind closed lips.

He won’t say any of these aloud, because if he does they will hold too much power over him and he can’t afford to give the pain and darkness any more control. He is holding it together because of a half-hearted promise. He is keeping the tears at bay because Archie believes in him and he doesn’t want to disappoint him. Jughead wants to believe Archie, to keep his promises, so he won’t ever tell, won’t even whisper the sordid details. They are his to take to the grave. Instead, finding a shred of courage, an ember of strength he lifts his gaze, quirks his lips into a small, brittle smile and says “Hey.”

Betty rushes to him first, she is in Jughead’s arms before he can stop her, he hugs her back with one arm, still not willing to let go of Archie’s hand. When she steps back, Bambi eyes glistening, long lashes flutter and the tears are gone, composures showing the strong, brave girl he knows and adores take control. She is going to walk through the darkness with him and Archie, she isn’t going to look at him with sympathy, and he won’t find the words liar on her tongue or victim shimmering in her gaze. Betty looks at him the way she always has, with warm pride and love. Breathing feels a little easier, the room becomes less stifling, shifting into a place of safety, of support. Veronica and Kevin have the same expressions, the same fierce loyalty in their eyes; everyone in this room is here for a fight.

Stepping away from Archie, towards the whiteboard standing opposite the murder board, he picks up a marker, casting a quick glance towards Archie before writing with a steady hand, though he can feel his heart pounding widely against his ribcage. ‘Who raped me?’ He writes, following it with the list of suspects. The energy in the room shifts; it feels colder all of a sudden. Turning away from the board, he finds his friend's eyes burning with guilt, with anguish. 

“Guy’s this isn’t your fault,” he proclaimed “I don’t blame you, any of you. The only guilty person here is on this board” he taps the end of the marker against the board for emphasises.

“We still feel horrible, Juggie” Betty admitted, “you never even wanted the party, and we let Cheryl stride right in and take over when we should have slammed the door in her and Chuck’s face.”

“And he, whoever he is, obviously came with Cruella,” Kevin added.

“We feel responsible, Jughead” Veronica spoke, linking her arm through Betty’s. “We snuck off to make out, and some scumbag hurt you. We couldn’t even help confirm your story, and everyone is acting like fucking assholes and bitching about getting grounded while you’re here being incredibly brave, trying to find your attacker while they are calling you are a liar or resentful slut” she bit her tongue, swallowing the rest of her rant. “Sorry, I have a lot of feelings.”

“Ronnie’s point is we do feel partly to blame,” Archie professed solemnly, dropping his gaze to his dirt covered sneakers. “We’re sorry, we’re sorry we let Cheryl stay, and we’re sorry we weren’t better friends.”

“Okay, I accept your apologies now can we end this pity party?” They didn’t have to be sorry or hold responsibility for this, Jughead meant it when he said the person responsible was on the board. What he didn’t say was that it was partly his fault. He should have fought harder, he should have screamed louder, took a chance and removed his beanie, but he didn’t, fear paralysed him, pain stole the air from his lungs and what sounds he had made were lost in the melody of a song. He had tried; he has to keep reminding himself of that, to not believe the dark whispers in his head agreeing with those who said he deserved it, that _things like this_ happen to people like him.

He’s trying, but there’s just so much pain and misery and fear that it’s hard to be in control of everything. At least he can pretend that he is in control, for his friends, _for Archie_ , it might help with the guilt. Fake it ‘til your make, right? Once more he moves towards the board, writing ‘this isn’t our fault’ above ‘who raped me?’ and with each letter, he feels himself believe it a little more. Maybe each day when they look at it, reading the words over and over, it will sever the thread tying them to their guilt, and in time it will fray, snap, and they’ll be set free.

“So where should we start?” Betty addressed the gang, taking charge.

“What time did it happen?” Kevin asked, “Sorry, I know it’s a horrible question but an exact time will help us narrow things down.”

“Just after twelve” Jughead replied, adding silently, _in the witching hour, the perfect time for monsters to come out and play_

“Right then” Betty stepped forward, collecting a marker and turning to face the whiteboard “Let’s begin.”

***

It’s just before lunch that Cheryl corners him, he’d left Archie’s side for all of three minutes, and as he is about to head to the cafeteria for lunch when she struts towards him in her thigh high boots, grabs his wrist with blood red nails and says they need to talk. He could easily pull away, tell her to stay away from him and his friends but there is a look in her eyes that is familiar. Brown eyes filled with tears, with sadness and something else, face ghostlike in the light of the moon and then she fluttered her spider lashes, and the ice queen came to back life, then she was gone, swallowed by the night. Jughead can only nod; following in her stride, letting her lead him to an empty classroom.

That look is present in her eyes again, blood red lips press into a grim line, the usual impish smirk nowhere in sight. He keeps looking at her but he doesn't actually see this version, he feels the gentle touch on his arm, a steadying hand to stop him falling backwards out the front door. She isn’t standing anywhere near him though, she’s pacing in front of the empty desk that is covered with unmarked homework and a half empty coffee mug that has some glittery, cheery, motivational quote printed on it.

Jughead should ask her what she wants, but there is a sick feeling in his gut that tells him he already knows. Still, he watches her pace, listening to the click-click of her heels. Jughead isn’t going to ask; he deserves to hear her speak. At last, she stops, straightens her posture and sweeps her fiery locks over one shoulder before walking towards him, boots click-clicking on the scuffed and scratched flooring. He braces himself, fighting down the urge to be sick, to collapse or run so that this nightmare doesn’t become any more real. But it is, it’s his new reality and nothing really is going to change, there’ll just be a name, a face to give to the guy who raped him.

“I saw” she whispered, cleared her throat and tried again, trying to be cold and aloof “I saw who attacked you.”

Jughead knew it was coming, he saw it clear as crystal in her eyes, in the nervous pacing, but it still hurts; it still feels like being guttered. She saw, and she didn’t do anything, she turned away on designer heels and left him. “Why are you telling me,” he asked, feeling unsteady. He should have asked, demanded to know who it was, but he needed a few more minutes to emotionally prepare for this. Already he felt her words tugging at the loose threads, threatening to unravel him. “You should be telling Sheriff Keller, Cheryl.”

“I lied to him” she revealed “when he came to our house and asked to talk to me, mummy and daddy were present and if they knew I was at the party, they’d be furious. You don’t know how they treat me. I’ve already caused enough problems, and with JJ’s murder, our family business and our name is hanging by a thread. If I want to take over the company one day, then I need to prove to them I am not some party girl and being involved in yet another questionable situation will tarnish me further.”

“Forgive me if I don’t care about your family’s reputation, but I was raped, Cheryl, and you  are letting him get away with it,” he shouted, bitters tears biting at his eyes “you left me at his mercy! You could have done something, you could have told somebody or called the cops, but you walked away? This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t crash my fucking party! So the least you could have done is told someone about what you saw. Everyone is out there calling me a liar, and you could have stopped it, you could have saved me Cheryl!” He’s hysterical now, surely any moment now someone will hear the screaming and come storming in, it would properly be for the best, Cheryl is shrinking under his rage.

He steps back, takes a long deep breath and collapses into a nearby chair, trying to get the tears, the trembling to stop. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that” angrily he brushes away at the tears that won’t stop falling “It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.”

“I was scared” she admitted “I was afraid that if I screamed or got him off you that he would hurt me too” brown, glistening eyes feel with shame. “I did go to get help, I promise. I found Archie, and I was going to tell him what was happening but he was barely conscious” she sniffled, sharp red nail sweeping away a single tear before it could trail done her perfectly made up face. “I put him to bed because if I couldn’t help you then at least I could make sure Archie was safe. I can’t change anything” her words took on a harsh edge, “I can’t have you unraped, but I can tell you who it was. That’s all I am offering.”

Jughead deflated, lungs feeling with heavy sorrow and blood with stones, if he were to step into Sweetwater River, he’d sink right to the bottom alongside the ghost of Jason Blossom. Cheryl had every right to be frightened, to fear that she might meet his fate or her brothers. She did the next best thing, and that was take care of Archie. It had been her that left the glass of water and tucked him in safe and sound. At least Archie had been spared witnessing his rape; Cheryl would have to live with the memory until her dying days.

“How much did you see?” he inquired, voice quavering.

She looked away, chewing her bottom lip nervously, “It was already happening… I couldn’t have saved you, the most I could have done is shortened it” she looked back, red lip still held painfully between pristine white teeth.

Jughead sighed, swallowing the fear and once more bracing himself for the pain that would follow her words “Who was it, Cheryl?”

With two long strides, she was at his side, resting her hand over his trembling one, “It was Bryce Danvers’s.”

Bryce Danvers, football player, senior, popular, beloved son of the wealthy and powerful Meredith and James Danvers's, who owned almost as much of the town as the Blossom’s did. Jughead had never spoken to Bryce, he was just another jock shoving him into a locker or calling him names. Just another face in the crowd, another kid who he didn’t know and didn’t want to know, now they were so familiar with each other; so sickly close. Jughead knew what his cologne smelled like, knew what his rough and calloused fingers felt like, knew how strong and violent his fist were, knew exactly what it felt like to have him _inside_ , how brutal his thrusts were.

“You need to tell Sheriff Keller,” he said, turning cold, growing faint “Please, Cheryl? Don’t I deserve to have justice?”

“Even if I tell Sheriff Keller, how do you know you’ll get that?” she stepped away, returning to her pacing “they have money, almost as much as us Blossom’s, they will destroy you.”

“Bryce has already destroyed me” he divulged, feeling dizzy, tired, fragile body ready to shatter, leaving a pile of ash where a boy once stood “Don’t let him destroy someone else.” He gets to his feet, carried towards the door on numb legs, before he steps out, ready to find Archie, to collapse into his arms, hopefully before his legs give in and he falls down like a house of card, he gives Cheryl one last pleading look. “Please tell him, don’t let someone else go through what I’m going through.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, moving out into the empty hallway, drifting past the rows and rows of lockers and bright, bubbly flyers announcing Friday night’s pep rally. The world washed away, colour and sound disappearing as he walked towards the cafeteria. He didn’t see the swivelling eyes or hear the jeers, and cruel comments, the only thing he was aware of was the pounding of his heart and blood rushing to his head. When wild eyes found Archie, he was sitting at one of the tables with Betty, Veronica and Kevin but he didn’t see them. Archie was the only colour and sound in the world gone dark.

Stopping at the foot of the table, he felt himself sway, could sense the darkness rush in as lungs tightened and fear clawed its way up his throat. Archie looked up at him, brows knitting together in concern, he was speaking, but Jughead couldn’t understand him, he sounded like he was miles and miles away. Across the ocean he heard ‘I was worried about you’ or maybe it was ‘I was about to look for you’ he isn’t sure, he can’t breathe, the darkness is closing in, and he needs to say this before he goes under.

“I know who raped me” the words are ugly, sharp things in his mouth; the world is growing darker “It was Bryce Danvers.” All his strings break, fragile bones giving up on this ruined, broken body and the darkness and all its friends rush in to greet him.

**XxX**

Archie doesn’t run fast enough, doesn’t sense that Jug is about to collapse under the weight of the words, he is toppling down like dominos before Archie has even registered the name. The cafeteria goes silent, Jughead’s body hits the floor with a dull thud and Archie is rushing to him, the room erupts. He doesn’t pay attention to the chorus of voices, the few snickering laughs, ignoring it all he cradles Jug in his arms and lifts him with ease, he is lighter than he was last week. The four of them leave the cafeteria without another glance, making their way hurriedly to the nurse’s office.

They gather around the narrow bed, waiting for Jug to come to. The air is thick with tension, with the name that Jug spoke before fainting; it’s a dark storm brewing in the space between them. It’s a bitter taste in Archie’s mouth, the twist of his gut and tug of his heart strings. Bryce Danvers, Bryce Danvers who he plays football with, who has invited him over after games and given him, Reggie and Moose beers and let them play games and hang out for hours in his pool house. He would have called him a friend, someone he even admired, but that was just for show, the mask hiding the monster lurking beneath.

Archie wanted to hurt him, to crush Bryce’s hands beneath his knock-off Converser’s, ending his football career in an instant, ruin him, hurt him worse than he hurt Jug. It’s an all-consuming rage; it’s a fever burning through his bloodstream, making him tremble and teeth rattle. He’d known that it could be a fellow jock that had hurt Jughead but he secretly hoped it wasn’t so he wouldn’t have to face the fact he’d laughed and shared beers with the guy who raped his best friend. But he had, he had seen Bryce that night, God they talked and joked, and he even said to come around sometime, and Archie was absolutely going to.

They parted ways, and Archie didn’t see what was to come, didn’t sense the wickedness he so cleverly hid. Had Bryce already decided on what he was going to do when they spoke? Had he spotted Jughead, found him hiding in a quiet corner or hanging close to the wall and thought he’d wait for the perfect moment then he’d strike. Had he stalked Jug all night long? Waiting for him to slip outside into the cold, empty night where no one would hear him scream. Or had it been a spur of the moment decision, had he stepped outside, ready to go home or to have a smoke, and he caught sight of Jughead standing alone and thought ‘what the hell?’

Archie needs to know; he wants answers, he wants to know why Bryce decided to pick Jughead. What had made him so cruel, so heartless? Archie would get answers; he’d seek retribution, for Jughead, for the innocence they have all lost. It will have to wait, he won’t stray from Jug’s side, not for a second, it’s not safe here. They’ve been sharing this school with a predator, walking the halls with Bryce every day since it happened. Had he spotted Jug trudging through the halls, bruised and broken, had he thought smugly that those bruises belonged to him, that the fear swimming in Jughead’s eyes was because of him?

Did he enjoy posting those hateful comments; did he actually believe Jug deserved what he did to him? Was he enjoying every minute of this, relishing in Jughead’s downfall while he walked away free, praised by strangers who thought he’d done this school a service. Archie felt sick, felt tears threaten to spill, he had to keep it together. There were still answers to chase, like how did Juggie know that it was Bryce? Had he bumped into him in the bathroom? Lungs feeling with his cologne, had he looked into the eyes of his rapist and ran to find safety at his friend's side? What if Bryce hurt him? Archie abandons his swirling mess of thoughts, focusing in on his best friend, searching him for injuries.

“Arch, what are you doing?” Betty asked quietly, wrapping her fingers around his wrist to stop the searching hands.

“I’m making sure he’s not hurt” he replied, voice quivering.

“He’s okay, Archie” Betty took his hands into hers.

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room” Kevin piped up “How did he know it was Bryce Danvers?”

“You can ask him that,” Veronica said, pointing to Jughead “he’s coming to.”

Archie freed his hands from Betty’s hold, giving his complete attention to Jug, whose blue eyes were fluttering open. Archie gently coaxed him back to the waking world, smoothing down his dark curls and lacing their fingers together to offer comfort as reality settled heavy and cold in Jug’s eyes. He let Jughead take a few moments to regain his bearings before helping him to a sitting position and handing him a cool glass of water which he drank greedily. He waited for a few more agonising heartbeats before finally asking, voice weak and unsteady, what had happened.

“Cheryl told me it was Bryce” he explained, tone flat and lifeless “she saw… she saw it happening.”

“What?” Betty exclaimed, “And she walked away?”

“She was afraid” he sighed, closing his eyes to hide the tears, “I asked her to the tell sheriff, but I don’t know if she will.”

“Oh, trust me” Veronica shot to her feet, eyes blazing “she will!” Spinning on heels, she stormed off; Betty sent them a nervous look before taking off after her girlfriend.

“I should probably go too,” Kevin said, before darting out of the room after them.

“And then there were two,” Jughead said, trying to colour his words with a hint of humour.

Archie forced a smile, to at least give him the impression that it worked. It felt wrong and lopsided, and he knew Jughead could see right through it. Deflating, he took a seat beside Jug, not sure what to say; there was nothing that would make what happened okay. There was nothing that would bring a scream to Cheryl’s lips, make Bryce decide not to go out that night; there was nothing that could be done to undo the past and the actions people took that night.

If only Cheryl had done something, had screamed or raced into the house to find him, tell him what was happening, then he could have done something. By midnight he was pretty wasted, barely holding onto the waking world, lost and confused and drunk dialling his dad. If Cheryl had sought him out then he wouldn’t have been able to help, he would have failed Jug just the same.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, sensing the answer before it left his friends lips.

“Blame yourself. It’s still not your fault; it will never be your fault Archie.”

“It hurts” the words leap out of his mouth before he can take them back, it’s not fair for him to be saying this to Jug, not when he’s in need of comfort, of protecting, but the words won’t stop. “It hurts because I was safe and sound and you weren’t. I was having fun, and Bryce fucking raped you! I know him, I spoke to him that night, and I didn’t know what he was going to do, and it hurts! It’s tearing me apart, and I love you so much, Jug.” The confession bubbles up, escaping into the space between them before he can swallow the words, before he can say what he was supposed to say, which was something like ‘if you hurt, I hurt’.

“Archie” he breathes, chest heaving and swelling with a storm of emotions, “it’s okay.”

It’s not, it’s fucking not. They are a million miles in the wrong direction of okay but Jughead is saying it’s okay, pretending it's fine so he doesn’t hurt him, and he wants Jug to hurt him. To rage at him, to blame him, to curse his very existence, but that’s just not the kind of person he is. He always forgave Archie, always welcomed him back with open arms and they’d bury the hatchet and move on. He never held a grudge for long. They would always find their way back to each other, no matter what turmoil had come between them. This was different though, Jughead should hate him, should lay all the blame on him.

“You are not responsible for this Archie” he reassured “Bryce is the one who raped me, not you. You are not the monster in this tale.”

“Then why does it feel like I am?” he demanded, voice high and cracking.

“Because you are good person” he reasoned “but you need to let go of the guilt. It’s not your fault” he emphasised his words by tightening his hold on Archie’s hand.

He nodded, blinking back tears “What are we going to about Bryce?” He wasn’t sure he could believe Jug or let the guilt slip away so easily, but he’d unloaded on him enough, there were more important things to focus on.

“If Cheryl tells Sheriff Keller it might be enough to have him brought in for questioning; I can’t say if it will be enough to make an arrest.”

“Why? She saw him doing it!”

“The justice system is screwed, Archie” he muttered, “especially since the Danvers’s have big cheques to wave around.”

“God, Juggie” he felt exhausted, felt thousands of years old, body weary and head heavy, he deflated, resting his forehead against Jug’s, he felt clammy and cool. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know” he breathed, words dancing over Archie’s lips “so am I.”

Archie sensed the tears, felt his own break free, dripping from his eyes to land delicately on Jug’s face, where they trickle down in the tracks of his tears. They stayed like this until they heard the heavy, booted footsteps of FP approaching. Before moving away, Archie brought his lips to the tip of Jug’s nose and pressed a feather-light kiss to the cool skin; then he was stepping away just as the curtain pulled back and FP appeared on the other side.

**XxX**

The drive home is silent and filled with tension; Jughead keeps his gaze on the outside world, watching it roll by without actually seeing the houses or the cars speeding past. It’s a short drive back to Archie’s house, the place that has felt more like home than his ever did. The old pick-up idles in the driveway, engine rattling and exhaust a little too loud; it’s somewhat comforting, could almost lull him to sleep. The space between the worn out seats and stick shift are full of too much tension for him to truly drift off, the questions his father has yet to ask hang in the air with the dust.

He’ll ask what happened and Jughead will open his mouth and say ‘I know who raped me,’ and he’ll hesitate, chewing on the name before letting it out, where it will become a storm. Will his father fly into a murderous rage? Will he go after Bryce, the way he fears Archie might, if the anger brewing beneath the surface bubbles over. He doesn’t want that, doesn’t want anyone else getting hurt or in trouble, especially not Archie. He can’t control his best friend’s actions, there are four more hours of school, and he is not at Archie’s side to stop him from going over the edge. He can try and contain his father’s rage, keep him from doing anything rash.

That is if he cares. Jughead doesn’t want to consider that he might not, that his father is disappointed and angry because he let something terrible happen. Tears gather in the corner of his eyes, he wants them to stop, for the pain and the heartache to just stop. He wants to be filled with rage again like he was when Cheryl confessed to walking away. He wants to scream so loud that it will shatter every window in town and reach the iron gates at Thornhill, making them tremble. He wants to feel something more than the icy chill and bone-deep sorrow that makes it hard to breathe, to hang onto the embers of bravery.

He wants to unravel time and never step out that front door, but he can’t. Instead, time gets to unravel him. To tug and tear at the fraying threads and pull him slowly and painfully apart until he is at rock bottom, again, clawing and fighting his way back to his feet only to be knocked down once more. If only he could be filled with the strength and rage that burnt in Archie’s veins, if only he could keep from breaking, from falling apart a little more each day. It’s like dying, like slowly losing his soul piece by piece to the darkness each day. All he can do is pretend that he is okay for everyone else’s sake. He keeps telling himself to be strong, giving out promises that he can’t keep but he isn’t sure how much longer he can hold on.

He’s drowning and knowing who raped him didn’t give him a lifeline, it just made him sink deeper. He goes to get out of the car, to head inside where he will lock himself away in Archie’s room, where he can fall apart in peace. Maybe he’ll hide under the covers, scream into a pillow until his lungs burn, and his throat is in shreds. Perhaps he’ll take the pill bottle from the nightstand and swallow them down until he can’t feel a thing until his heart doesn’t beat and his lungs can’t draw in any more air. The thought terrifies him, it rises from the darkness and leaves him paralysed, trapped in panic and completely unaware of the ugly sobs climbing up his throat and filling the cabin.

It’s not until he feels his father arms wrap around him, holding him close, chasing away the ever-present chill that he realises he is crying. Sobbing ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ into his father’s chest, gasping for air and clutching at him tight. His father hushes him, keeps him safe in his embrace until the sobs have subsided to pitiful hiccups. FP finally eases back, holding him at arm’s length, Jughead looks away, still so afraid of what he might see in the depths of those blue eyes.

“Look at me Jughead” he orders and Jug obeys “You don’t need to be sorry, this isn’t your fault, you hear me?”

“But I am,” he murmured “I am sorry I wasn’t strong enough, that I didn’t stop him… That I let you down.”

“Jug, you haven’t let me down,” he said, shaking his head like the thought was nonsense. “I let you down, Jughead. I should have protected you, and I wasn’t there! Betty asked me to come but I stayed away, so when I look at you, all I see is my mistake. If I had just shown up, then it wouldn’t have happened.”

“But you didn’t,” he said forlornly, “and it did.”

“I know” he sighed, scrubbing a trembling hand over his stubble. “This is killing me, Jug and I don’t know what to do or how to make you better.”

“I just need you” he whispered, “that’s it, I just need you.”

FP sagged against the worn out seat, Jughead moved closer, drawing his legs up and leaning into father’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder and soft fingers lacing through his father’s calloused ones. They sat quietly, Jughead trying to push the darkness out, the voices still telling him that his father was angry and disappointed in him. They should go inside, put the kettle on and curl up on the couch and watch a movie or some boring daytime TV to pass the time, to chase away the sorrow in their souls but the unanswered question still hangs in the air.

So he makes the first move, getting ready to rip the Band-Aid off, “Dad” he says, voice quiet and the words broken, jagged, letters bubbling up his throat “I know who raped me.”

FP tensed, breath held for a moment too long, rushing out a little too fast “Who was it, Jughead?”

“If I tell you I need you to promise me you won’t do anything” he shifted closer, so he was half sitting on his father’s lap, “I can’t handle losing you right now.” He stayed silent for a few agonising moments; finally, FP gave him a curt nod as a silent promise. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, he said, the name tasting of earth and copper on his tongue “It was Bryce Danvers.”

“Go inside, Jughead” his father ordered, voice straining “I’ll be in a minute, just go inside.”

He wanted to say no, to protest but the hint of violence in his father’s words sent him out the door and racing inside on unsteady legs. He slammed the door shut behind him, falling back against it before slipping to the floor, fighting back the tears, the scream still yearning to be set free. Heaving himself to his feet, he forced himself to climb the stairs, to make it to Archie’s room before collapsing in a heap onto the mattress, feeling the sorrow and pain shredding him apart. He should have listened, waited to hear if his father drove away, to seek revenge but he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his head, the ugly, cruel thoughts emerging out of the darkness once more.

All his bones began to shake, the tears that would fall for months to come traced their familiar patterns down his cheeks and the guttural cry finally clawed its way up his throat, spilling out of his mouth in an earth-shattering scream. He screamed until his lungs burnt, until his throat was in shreds and there was nothing left inside his chest and all he could do was curl up under the blankets in a pathetic heap. Hidden under the covers and lost in the raging grief he didn’t hear the door open or the footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until he felt a heavy weight on the edge of the bed did he become aware of the presence in the room.

Startled, he pulled back the covers, relief flooding his chest when he found his father there, eyes red and puffy, knuckles bruised and swollen. He’d ask what happened later, not enough time passed for him to have gone to the Danvers’s; the bruises were probably from an unfortunate wall. The questions could wait; right now he needed comfort, to breathe, to rest so he could try to reign in the darkness once more. Shifting over in silent invitation he waited until his father had settled down beside him before curling into his side, head pillowed on his chest, listening to his heart beat against a strong chest. He fell asleep to the sound of his father’s heartbeat, sinking down into a world where a monster had just been given a name, brown eyes and a cocky smile.

  **XxX**

Archie races up the front steps, almost colliding with the front door in his haste to get inside, fumbling with the lock he curses under his breath before shoving it open and stepping through, calling for Jughead. He barely manages to remember to shut the door behind him before taking off up the stairs. Once more he nearly collides with a solid force but this time it’s FP, who is looking at him like he’s gone slightly mad, in hindsight he could have approached this with a calmer demeanour, but he needed to tell Jug what had happened, tell him this nightmare was nearly over.

“Where’s the fire, Archie,” FP asked, “and don’t you have about three more hours of school?”

“I raced home as soon as it happened” he panted, only now realising how winded he was.

“As soon as what happened?” Jughead appeared from their room; arms wrapped tightly around his slender frame that the baggy sweater he wore barely clung too.

“Sheriff Keller came for Bryce” he puffed. “Cheryl must have told him because we were in the hall on our way to class and I saw him being lead out by the Sheriff and Principal Weatherbee” Archie moved towards Jughead, reaching out for him. “This is good, Juggie,” he wanted to see a smile, a flicker of light in his eyes but there was nothing, just a grim press of lips and sorrow clouding blue eyes.

“Well, it’s something,” FP remarked, “but there is no guarantee that it will be enough.”

“I don’t see how a witness isn’t enough?” Archie looked between them, FP’s expression was unreadable, and Jughead was withdrawing further into himself. “How do we make it enough?” He demanded, growing frustrated. The relief he felt at seeing Bryce being led away was dissipating; he’d wanted something good to happen. Something to start making this right so they could start to heal but if Bryce was free, then there was no closure, no end to this fucking nightmare. “He has to go away for what he did; he can’t just walk away like he didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Archie” Jughead took one of his failings hands into his own, “There’s nothing you can do, let’s just wait until we hear from the sheriff before we lose our heads, okay?”

“Yeah, you’re right” he sighed, feeling the anger rush away “I’m sorry.”

“Everyone really needs to stop saying that” Jughead mumbled, turning on his socked feet and disappearing into their room once more.

“Is he going to be okay?” Archie looked at FP, searching his eyes for a flicker of hope, a sign that Jug would be alright in the end, he didn’t like what he found reflected there.

“I want to say yes,” FP said, leaning heavily against the wall, blue eyes moving past Archie to the space where Jughead had just stood “but I honestly don’t know.”

It’s not the answer he wanted, it’s not what he was seeking, but in all honesty, it’s the one he was expecting. Archie wanted to believe that Jughead would be okay, that in a couple of months’ time, when the weather was warmer and the first days of spring had arrived, that he’d be himself again. Perhaps Betty was right; maybe they’d lost a part of their friend forever, something had been lost that night, stolen by Bryce, and Archie and all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn’t put him together again. Perhaps everything that could have been would never be, and Archie would be forced to watch his best friend slowly fade away. See what could have been vanish before he even had the chance to cherish it.

“I won’t let him drown” determination sears in his blood, beats in his heart. “I won’t give up on him” he won’t, he can’t step back and watch his best friend self-destruct. He won’t give up on all their tomorrows and the possibility of their friendship becoming something else. “We have to get him through this; we have to fight for him when he can’t fight for himself. He’s my best friend, and I have failed him enough, I’m not going to lose him to this.”

“Your loyalty has always been one of my favourite things about you, Red” FP disclosed, lips quirking into a small, fleeting smile. “I want to stand here and tell you that we’ll be enough to get him through this that you can save him with your friendship and that stupidly big heart of yours, but this is bigger than us both. We don’t know the first thing he’s going through.”

Archie felt fear stir awake, sensing something lurking beneath FP’s words. He didn’t believe they could fix Jughead, that they were enough to get him through this but he wouldn’t just leave Jug to drown, to suffer in the misery and pain. He may not be father of the year material, but even FP wouldn’t turn his back on his son. No, he was planning something, and Archie wasn’t going to let anyone else force something on Jug. No more taking, no more breaking his best friend, Archie was standing his ground, drawing a line in the sand even though he had no right to. No one was taking Jug from him, not Bryce, not FP and not the darkness gathering in his friend's heart.

“What are you going to do?” he demanded.

“His mum and I think it’s best for him to go into care.”

“What do you mean?” Jughead was being cared for; he was being protected, here he was loved and safe, outside these four walls, in the heart of this town were monsters. “Are you going to send him away?”

“There is a private psychiatric hospital in Toledo that his grandparents are willing to pay for” FP replied matter-of-factly “It's the safest place for him.”

“Does Jughead know you’re planning this?”

“I was going to talk to him tonight but to be honest, Archie, you don’t get to tell me what is best for my son.” He said curtly “You are a kid, it’s sweet that you think you’re enough to get him through this but I’ve got sad news for you, you’re not.”

“You’re wrong” he snapped, trying to keep his voice low, so Jughead didn’t overhear “and sending him away is only going to make him feel more isolated and just because you don’t think _you_ can help Juggie doesn’t mean I can’t!”

“I’m doing what is best for my son!” he hissed, “and maybe you’re right, maybe I can’t handle this so I’d rather do the right thing and send him somewhere he’ll be safe then come home and find him hanging from the rafters.”

“He wouldn’t do that” Archie knew Jughead was hurt, was in pieces but he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ believe that he’d take his own life; it wasn’t the kind of person he was. But he was hurt, he was broken, and if Archie looked away even for a moment he feared Jug would disappear and wasn’t that fear a sugar coated version of FP’s? Could this truly destroy him, could the darkness that had always lingered in Jughead finally take control, eventually steal him for itself? If Archie fell asleep if he walked too far away would he turn around and find an empty space where his best used to be, a cold, grey stone with his name engraved into the smooth surface?

Would the pain become too much to take, the sorrow too heavy to bear and he’d swallow a handful of pills or reach for a sharp knife? Gone, lost to him forever. Could Archie allow that to happen because he wanted to be the hero, the one who saved him? He didn’t want to see Jughead leave, imagining him in a far off place where he would be alone and afraid and out of his reach was heart breaking. What if this was the only way to truly protect, _save_ him? FP was right; he didn’t know the first thing about what Jug was going through. He thought he did, he thought maybe what happened in the summer with Miss Grundy was wrong but he didn’t feel cut up about it, it was just something that happened but what Bryce did to Jughead was sinister and it was tearing him apart.

“Couldn’t he at least go somewhere here?” Archie pleaded, admitting defeat but hoping to meet somewhere in the middle. “Maybe I’m not enough to help him, but he’s my best friend and Betty and Veronica are here, and Kevin. Wouldn’t having his friends around help him recover quicker?”

FP sighed, sagging under the weight of the world “I don’t know if Riverdale is what’s best for him right now.”

“He told you he didn’t want to run” Archie argued, recalling the conversation he and Jughead had the other night, how Jug had bravely convinced his parents to let him stay, “That he was afraid if he did then he’d be running forever. Doesn’t he deserve to be heard? To have a say in this since he sure as hell didn’t get a say in what Bryce did to him.”

FP grimaced, skin paling at Archie’s words, several seconds passed before he spoke again, “I’ll speak with his mum.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, stepping towards the stairs “Keep an eye on him, okay? I’m going out for a bit.”

“Of course” he watched FP disappear downstairs and out the front door, after a beat Archie sprinted into his room, hoping to God Jughead hadn’t heard any of that but Archie was starting to learn that hope was a fragile, fickle thing. When the door creaked opened, he found an open window, curtains blowing an icy breeze into an empty room. Archie didn’t think, didn’t stop to consider he should probably call FP; he bolted downstairs, out the front door and into the street.

He ran in the direction of the one place that Jughead always found safety.

**XxX**

The neon light’s always felt like home, like safety, the smell of burgers and fries were comforting, a warm embrace wrapping tightly around a fragile frame. These walls were filled with memories, with hot summer days where a cold milkshake tasted like heaven and late winter nights where the hot chocolate and marshmallows would chase away the chill and troubles of the day. It doesn’t feel the way it should now, the lights are too bright, the smell too strong, and the hot chocolate does little to ease the anxiety strumming through Jughead’s bloodstream.

The conversation he overheard is on replay, like a broken record it loops around and around in his head until the words are nonsense and he can’t think straight. His parents want to send him away, give him to someone else to deal with because they can’t handle this. They aren’t strong enough to help him through it. His family had been broken for so long now; torn apart right before his eyes and this was just one more thing they couldn’t fix.

He was one more thing they couldn’t fix.

As much as it hurt to know that his dad wanted to send him away, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it was probably the best thing to do, especially after the disturbing thought of overdosing on pills floated up out of the darkness. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to kill himself, but at that moment there was a part of him that was already reaching for the bottle, and he was afraid that part might grow stronger, the nothingness might reclaim him. Instead of shutting down he’ll yearn to end the void and before he can grasp hold of hope and strength the pills might already be swallowed, a blade already bloody. If he lost control for even a heartbeat of a moment, he might end it all.

He doesn’t want that, not with the warm lights above him, the familiar red vinyl beneath him and the taste of chocolate on his tongue. He wants to stay strong, to keep his promise and believe Archie when he said he could be his own hero. He wants to stay in the light, but the darkness keeps calling, like a siren luring a sailor to his doom, he can’t help following, letting it consume him before he can turn around and run. It’s so hard to stay afloat, to hold onto hope and bravery. Maybe if he went into hospital they could help him hold the darkness at bay, they could keep him from falling completely apart.

It’s foolish to think Archie and his dad can save him alone, they are out of their depths, and the more he hurts, _breaks apart_ , the more they do to. Soon everyone will be drowning, and it will be because of him. Going away helps everyone, it takes the burden off their shoulders, gives them time to step back and recover from _this fucking nightmare_. It’s the best thing he can do for his family, for Archie, cut them loose before he drags them down with him. As much as he’d like to stay, to try, _try_ his very best to be a hero, he’ll do what’s right for his family, _for Archie_.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Archie appears, sliding into the booth opposite him, brown eyes swimming with a thousand emotions and cheeks red and forehead damp from sweat. He must have run all the way here once he found the bedroom empty. To show that he was alright, well hanging in there at least, he reached across the table for Archie’s hand, palm up in invitation. Archie’s warm hand rested heavy and reassuring against his cool skin, fingers lacing around his narrow wrist, toying with the bracelets.

There was a lot they needed to talk about, a whole ocean of emotions that they needed to sort through. For now, Jughead wanted to enjoy the feel of Archie’s hand on his own, the hot chocolate that chased away the taste of earth and copper and a moment of peace before the chaos.

**XxX**

It’s been years since Jughead had shared a bed with Archie; they stopped sleeping side by side when their bodies started to change. It’s strange how one day they were always sleeping next to each other than puberty hit and the next time Jug came to stay there was an air mattress for him instead. It was a silent, mutual agreement that it was time to make a change before any awkward incidents could occur, after that they never looked back. Tonight is the first time in years that Jug has crawled into bed with Archie, seeking his strong arms and craving the comfort, the reassurance that here, in this room and in this house, he is safe from the monsters that have appeared out of the shadows.

It’s once more a silent, mutual agreement that had him slipping under the covers with Archie, pressing close and letting Archie hold him. The silent agreement was made the moment Jughead finally opened up at Pop’s, they’d been sitting there in silence for a few peaceful moments then a waitress was asking Archie if he wanted anything and the spell was broken. When she walked away Jug knew it was time to talk, to admit to what he’d overheard. Words aren’t coming as easily these days, the feel strange in his mouth, loaded weapons ready to hurt the people he loved.

“If you don’t want to go then I won’t let them take you” Archie is saying, _is promising_ before Jughead can even speak or reveal how much he’d overheard of the conversation. He figures the fact he took off gave Archie enough evidence to support the theory that he’d heard enough. “I’m sorry you had to overhear that, by the way.”

“It’s not your fault, Arch” he was starting to sound like a broken record player, everyone was; they were stuck in an endless loop, a merry-go-round of nightmares and miseries. “Maybe it’s for the best” he sighed, lowering his gaze so he didn’t have to see the shock or disappointment flicker in his best friends eyes. “I thought about killing myself this afternoon” Archie’s fingers still on his wrist, it seems like all the air, the noise has vanished from the diner, it’s just the two of them sitting in the heart of the darkness. “I was sitting in the car with my dad and I thought about overdosing on pills and then it was gone and I started crying” he trails off, feels the diner and Archie slowly come back to life. “I don’t want to kill myself right now but I’m scared that if I’m alone or if my thoughts get too loud again then I won’t be in control anymore and I’ll hurt myself.”

“I won’t let that happen, Jughead.”

Archie keeps making promises Jug isn’t sure he can uphold, but he looks up to meet brown eyes just the same “How has this become my life?” he asks, nervous fingers fiddling with his beanie which he ripped off his head the moment he sat, tossing it aside carelessly. It still reminds me of what happened, that the one thing that always made him feel safe was used against him and yet he still can’t help but cling to it like a lifeline. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“I don’t know, Juggie” Archie slipped out of the booth and moved to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around his slim shoulders, “and you didn’t deserve this, you know that, don’t you?”

Jughead shrugs, wanting desperately to believe him, to stop feeling like he was to blame, that maybe if he acted differently, if he was _different_ then this wouldn’t have happened. It’s these dark thoughts, _beliefs_ that he fears, that he is afraid will drive him to the edge and then right over. One day Archie isn’t going to be around to hold him, to soothe him with pretty words and chase away the darkness. One day he’ll be all alone and he is terrified he’ll give in to the nothingness, only this time instead of hiding away in it for a time he’ll seek it out for all eternity.

“I’m going to do what my parents want” he whispered. “I’d like to stay here if I can, but I’m going to…” he couldn’t finish, words lost to the pain inside his chest, the tears that kept falling despite him trying his very best to hold them back.

“I’ll stand by you, Juggie” Archie whispered back, pressing a feather light kiss to his forehead “Always.”

And Jughead knew that Archie would always be by his side, would fight for him; would walk through fire and right to hells front door with him. Hours later, he is safe in Archie’s embrace, safe in his bed, falling asleep to the sound of wind chimes and his best friend’s steady heartbeat. In the morning, he’d try again; he would go to school and do his best to be brave, to not let Archie down.


	4. You Took it All, But I'm Still Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I got a new laptop and I am working out the kinks and trying to get used to a new touchpad! It's taking time. Enjoy!

_I had a one-way ticket to a place where all the demons go_  
_Where the wind don't change_  
 _And nothing in the ground can ever grow_  
 _No hope, just lies_  
 _And you're taught to cry into your pillow_  
 _But I survived_

**Sia - Alive**

There’s this old, clichéd saying “It’s always the darkest before the dawn,” but what happens when the darkness follows you around? When it unpacks inside your soul and makes a home in your head, in your heart? How do you survive when dawn seems so far out of reach when you are suspended in the darkness? How do we keep it together when the walls are crumbling down around us when we are drowning in pain and suffocating on fear?

You find an anchor, a shred of hope or flicker of flame to hold onto, to wrap your trembling fingers around. You find something or someone to help you keep moving forward… because you have to keep going, one foot in front of the other. And if you stumble, if you stray the fear will eat you alive. So grasp hold of hope, of a caring hand, tether yourself to anger or retribution. Do something, anything to save yourself. Don’t let the fear, the monsters win.

Rise up, stand and fight.

Be your own damn hero, no matter how terrified you are.

XxX

In hindsight Jughead should have stayed home, should have taken up Archie’s offer to stay home with him and spend the day watching movies and eating junk food. There are a lot of things he should have done, starting with stepping out into the cold, silent, empty night but he did, just as he walked into school, to his locker, tracing the same steps he’s walked a thousand times before. If only he didn’t find the word LIAR written in glistening blood across his locker door if only he didn’t spin around in search of the culprit only to find two dark brown eyes and a cocky smile standing among the gathered crowd.

Breathing in he smelt the overwhelming scent of cologne, wafting over to him from where Bryce stood, surrounded by laughing, sneering jocks. There, before his wild eyes that were flooding with tears was the star of his nightmares, the monster that was unravelling him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the hands of time had stopped, suspending him panic. The world rushed away, leaving him alone, standing before the boy who’d ruined him. Legs grew weak, shaking, trembling, threatening to buckle and send him to the ground, where he’d be at Bryce’s mercy.

It’s not until he’s backed up against the blood stained locker that he realises he’s crying and the world comes back in screaming colour. Everyone is laughing, pointing, flashes from phone cameras blind him, remind of the flashes from a different camera, from a different day where he stood in his underwear having the bruises marking his thighs and hips catalogued. He is consumed by fear, a cornered animal with nowhere to run or hide. There is no escape. Chaos is all around him; legs are giving in, sending him slipping down to the ground, smearing the blood. He wants the ground to shudder and shake, to crack open and swallow him whole, take him from this laughing, cruel, world.

It doesn’t shudder or shake, doesn’t even quake but the sneering crowd parts as his friends burst through. Betty and Veronica appear at his side, helping him to his feet and Archie emerges from the sea of students with eyes dark and furious. He lurches at Bryce, it’s so quick Jughead barely registers it happening, but the hallway grows thunderous with shouts, with flashing lights and ‘fight, fight, fight.' It’s chaos, disorder, mayhem and he needs to get away, to be somewhere far away from this fucking nightmare. Out of the sea of students, a flash of red and black appear and Cheryl is guiding them away from the madness.

She leads them to the Blue and Gold, he stumbles forwards; ripping off his jacket, tossing it to the floor like it’s made of acid and it will strip away skin if held too long. He collapses in a heap, a sobbing, ugly, broken mess. Soft hands reach for him; Jughead grips them tight; needing something to hold onto before he is lost to the war inside. Looking up he is surprised to find heavily mascaraed eyes, and red lips pulled into a thin smile. Betty and Veronica venture over cautiously, sitting on either side of Cheryl, watching through glistening, wide eyes.

He’s struggling to breathe, to calm the pounding heart that wants to break free of this feeble body. Darkness dances in the corner of his vision, beaconing him forward, luring him with the promise of escape, a momentarily reprieve from this hell. Gasoline coated lungs strain, the vice around them pulling taught until he is certain that he’s about to die, to suffocate on the fear churning in his gut and freezing the blood in his veins. It feels like dying like these are the final moments, and he’ll take in one last feeble breath then an unseen force will cut his strings, and he’ll be gone.

A hollowed out boy that was once filled with promises and hope for a better future.

“Jughead, Jughead, look at me.”

He can’t focus on Cheryl’s face, he tries, but he’s too far gone. Darkness has laced oily tendrils around him, dragging him down, down, down in the murky depths of freedom. It’s peaceful below the water, so calm. Above there is chaos, is a wild storm but here is safe. Voices echo all around him, calling, begging, pleading and growing frantic as the current carries him away, takes him to a place where there is no pain or fear or sorrow. The voices call, they sound like they belong to another life, another world where everything isn’t shattering apart.

“Jughead Jones you are stronger than this.”

Cheryl doesn’t know him, doesn’t know what his favourite colour is or what movies he likes to watch or that when he and Archie were ten they became blood brothers and at thirteen they kissed to see what all the fuss was about. She doesn’t know what he’s going through, how it felt like he was a million miles away from everyone he loved. That he was drowning, falling apart long before Bryce raped him. It was just one more terrible thing that happened to him, another reason to believe, to know he was just a pawn in a game he’d never understand. Fate laughed at him; it tore down his world, again and again, maybe it was time he realised he didn’t get to have a shiny, bright, happy life.

There is so much chaos in the world, here at least there is peace, is a chance for freedom. Then there is a sharp jolt, a hand reaching into the dark waters and dragging him out, jolting him back to reality. Gasping much-needed air, aching lungs fill with oxygen, chasing the dizziness away. Absently he rubs at his damp cheek, tasting copper on his tongue, finding wild, frantic eyes searching his face, too many hands touching, evading his space. Already he longs for the peace of the darkness, the ocean of nothingness. Now he’s returned memories are trickling back in, laughter and shouting filling every corner of his mind with thunderous noise.

“Hey, stay with us” Cheryl grips his chin firmly, the tips of red nails digging in softly, the glimmer of pain anchoring him to her, to the world. “Breathe,” he obeys “inhale” he does, lungs burning under the effort “exhale.”

It hurts, chest tight and cold but he obeys, and Cheryl lets go. He misses the bite of her nails, the thought is troublesome, he’d give it more time, but a teacher is appearing in the doorway, ordering them to the principal’s office. Jughead struggles to his feet, Cheryl helps; her touch gentle now and he wonders why she is helping him. Is she seeking forgiveness, atonement? If she wants to be forgiven for walking away, then it’s already done. He absolved her the moment she admitted to taking care of Archie. It’s not as though she left him, she had sought out Archie, in truth, he was grateful that he was unable to help. The last thing Jug wanted was for his best friend to be a witness to his rape, even if it would have changed the outcome slightly.

How would the night have unfolded if Archie had been sober enough to follow Cheryl back outside, where’d he’d find Bryce violating? Archie would have lost it just as he did not five minutes ago, a fight would have broken out, and the party-goers would have spilt out of the house into the night. They would have found him with his pants around his ankles and blood glistening black in the moonlight. Perhaps they would have believed him then. Everything might be different. Archie might have rushed him to the hospital, Kevin would have called his dad, and there would be no one to say they didn’t see or hear anything.

That night could have played out a dozen different ways, and maybe in some other universe, he made it safely to Pop’s or the party never even happened and right now he is fine, is absolutely fine. That isn’t his reality though, just a wish, a fantasy. This is the harsh truth, he’s not okay, he is trying, trying so damn hard to be but each day is getting harder and harder and soon no one is going to be around to call him back to the light. All it will take is one moment, and he could fall over the edge he’s been teetering on long before his bittersweet sixteenth. The only question is, does he ask for help while he can or does he stay silent and wait for the next breakdown.

Does he rise or does he fall?

“Juggie?”

Betty’s concerned tone shattered the swirling thoughts, blinking away the fog he focused on his surroundings. They were sitting in the hallway outside Weatherbee’s office, he doesn’t remember walking here, can’t recall sitting down or what is going on. Peeking into the room he finds Archie and Bryce sitting before Weatherbee. The sight makes his skin cruel, awakens a primal fear and it takes all his strength not to run, to flee before Bryce steps out and the sickly smell of cologne can hurdle Jughead back in time. Trembling, biting back panic, he digs blunt nails into the palm of his hands, trying to tether himself to the pain.

“He’s not going to hurt you, Jug” Betty is kneeling before him, uncurling his tightly clenched fists “it’s okay, just breathe.”

“I want to go home” he whimpered, hating how pathetic he sounded.

“I’ll get someone to call your dad, okay.”

Betty is rising to her feet, but he stops her, grip a little too tight “Don’t bother.”

He hadn’t seen his dad since yesterday afternoon. When he and Archie finally arrived home, the house was dark, silent apart from Vegas barking in greeting. He waited all night for his dad to come back, to tell him he would agree to go into hospital, lie and say it’s because he wanted too when really Jughead was just trying to protect everyone. He never reappeared, didn’t answer when they called or respond to any texts. Eventually, he gave up, thinking it was probably for the best. With Fred, Mary and Archie he felt safe, they cooked pasta which he actually managed to eat some of and before bed they all sat in the lounge room and watched TV. It’s the most normal he’s felt all week.

His father would eventually return, he always did, but Jughead wasn’t sure if by then it would be too late. The heavy wooden door is swinging open, and Bryce is stepping out into the hall. He looks at the girls first before meeting Jughead’s gaze, lips quirking into a sly, cocky smirk and one dark brown eye winks. It says ‘look at me getting away with this,’ it screams ‘I know you’re afraid of me.’ The self-assured smirk speaks volumes of how much he is enjoying this, how he relishes in getting away with destroying a life.

Jughead moves as though he is a puppet and an outside force is tugging at his strings, he rises on shaking legs just as Bryce is about to walk away, free, with the power to hurt someone else. With the power to hurt him again. The words climb up his throat without warning, surprising even him when he exclaims “Why me Bryce?” The shout brings all eyes to him, and Bryce just fucking stands there like he doesn’t have a clue why Jughead is doing this to him. “Why me?” he’s trembling, regretting the words just spoken, feeling out of character and wanting nothing more than to get away from Bryce’s piercing gaze. He’s choking on the memories, gaging on the phantom touch against his skin.

“You’ve got it all wrong” he is saying, voice soft, gentle like he is talking to a child “It wasn’t me.”

“I saw you Bryce” Cheryl rose to her feet gracefully, strutting over to him fearlessly “and you won’t be able to run from this forever.”

“That’s enough” Weatherbee appeared in the doorway, ending this before it could escalate. “Mr Jones, please come into my office. Mr Denver's you are free to go.”

Jughead didn’t move until Bryce had walked away and Weatherbee had called his name twice more. When the fear subsided, he could move again, following Weatherbee into the office. He felt Archie’s eyes on him, glancing his way Jug took note that his left eye had started to turn purple, and his knuckles were bright red and bloody. He only now recalls seeing dark bruising blossoming alongside Bryce’s jaw, the red droplets on his white shirt and a split in his cocky smile.

He just faced off against the guy who raped him, he just looked him in the eye and demanded to know why, why him? Bryce looked him right in the face and lied, smirking like the devil. He was not sorry for what he had done; he knew freedom belonged to him, that this school, this town was on his side. With that devilish smirk, he sent fear racing through Jughead’s system, leaving him frozen, unable to feel anything but the sheer panic that silenced him that night. Now he was gone, vanished from sight but not from mind; rage crept out of the shadows, it boiled the ice in his blood and had him trembling.

Bryce thought he could get away with this, hell he was getting away with this and what was Jughead doing? Sitting here cowering in fear when he should be fighting, should be forcing the truth from Bryce’s smug tongue. If he gave up now, surrendered to the fear, the darkness, then he would be letting himself down, letting everyone he loves down and worse he was letting down a future victim. He was the only one who could stop this from happening again. To save someone from the hell, he was going through.

Jughead just faced off with the guy who raped him, and he was still standing, still breathing, still surviving.

XxX

Archie had lost it, he took one look at Jug cowering against his locker, the vibrant smudged LIAR written in blood pushing him to the edge, then he looked at Bryce, and he tipped right over. He saw red. It wasn’t until he was being pulled away did he realise what was happening. The world had been lost to his rage, swallowed whole by his hatred for Bryce. He can’t stop trembling; the anger is hot in his gut and burning through his bloodstream. His hand aches dully, and he can hear Principal Weatherbee speaking, but the words sound far away. He can’t see anything other but the cruelly written LIAR and Jughead breaking down while everyone watched, laughing; taking photos like it was some big game, a cruel joke that Archie didn’t want to be part of.

To add insult to injury Bryce is sitting beside him, telling Weatherbee he didn’t have anything to do with the graffiti on Jughead’s locker, saying he doesn’t understand why Cheryl told Sheriff Keller that he’d been the one that assaulted Jughead. He said he has an alibi, he turns to Archie with a sympathetic smile and says ‘I really hope you can find who did this’ and it takes all Archie’s willpower not to attack him again because in that moment he knows without a doubt that it was Bryce. He has not succeeded in turning him against Jug; he’s only proven just how guilty he is. Weatherbee says he can go, Archie follows his every move, watching him disappear out the door; it’s what he hears next that freezes the blood in his veins.

Looking through the blinds he finds Jughead starring Bryce down, voice wavering as he asks ‘why me’ and Bryce acts so fucking innocent. It turns the ice to fire and if Principal Weatherbee didn’t step out to intervene Archie would have flung himself from this chair and beat the truth from Bryce’s stupid cocky lips. The moment is over, and Jughead is being ushered in, collapsing into the seat where Bryce just sat. It makes Archie’s stomach summersault and skin crawl. He doesn’t want Jug to have to go through any more suffering; this morning has been hell and Archie could see his best friend tearing at the seams.

“Mr Jones, proof,” Principal Weatherbee says, voice soft but lacking warmth “I understand you’ve been through a trying time-”

“-If you call getting raped trying, then yeah sure, it’s been a trying time” Jughead’s tone is bitter, words underlined with simmering rage.

Archie feels relief flood his chest; he feared that this morning’s events would have doused the flames Jug had been struggling to cling to. Seeing the look of rebellion flicker in his gaze is like seeing rain after a drought, it brings life and hope, it spells trouble for Bryce.

Weatherbee is taken aback, flustered even and Archie thinks ‘good, so you damn well should be.’ Clearing his throat, he somewhat awkwardly says, “Why don’t we talk about what happened this morning, with your locker? It appears someone vandalised it in retaliation of your ah ‘accusation’ of Mr Danvers-”

“-Accusation?” Archie exclaimed, “Cheryl saw him, Principal Weatherbee, that’s proof.”

“Bryce just told us that he has a witness” Weatherbee continued, trying to keep his voice even “and Cheryl is bereft, grief makes us act in strange ways.”

“Bryce is lying” Archie persisted

“And where is your proof of that, Mr Andrews?” he countered, leaning back in the sun faded leather chair.

“Where is evidence that he isn’t?” Archie demanded, casting a quick glance Jughead’s way, he seemed indifferent to the conversation happening around him. Archie hoped he wasn’t lost somewhere deep inside his mind, trapped in a panic attack or lost in memory. It wasn’t safe to let Jug sit in his spiralling thoughts for too long. “Couldn’t you at least suspend Bryce until the investigation is over?”

“I can’t suspend a good student over rumours and hearsay,” he turns towards Jughead, a clear sign that this conversation is over. “I am sympathetic to what you’re going through, Mr Jones and I will look into this morning’s incident but perhaps you should take some time off for your mental health?”

Jughead lifted his head, eyes full of fire, “I’m fine” his tone was cold, Weatherbee visibly flinched “why wouldn’t I be? I’m lying after all.”

Archie shivered, never had he seen such darkness, such venom in his friend's eyes, the air turned frigid, like Jughead’s words, his icy rage had brought winter early to Riverdale. Gracefully he rose to his feet, shouldering his bag and walking silently from the room. Archie spared Weatherbee a fleeting glance before taking off, regardless of the punishment. He followed Jug into the hall, ignoring the girls as he chased him down the corridor, stopping at his side, trying to gauge what mood had befallen him.

Ever since his confession at Pop’s he feared that Jug would hurt himself or worse. He knows he should really tell FP or his dad but they might take Jug away from him, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to have his best friend locked away; his story silenced before it can reach the end. This battle is not over and as Jughead walks out the front doors of the school, stride strong and purposeful, some of the fear wanes. He isn’t giving up; there is determination in his eyes, anger finally burning to life beneath it. He isn’t giving in; this isn’t him running away, no he is marching into war, onto the battlefield and Archie will match ever stride, walk every step.

Get ready Bryce, war is coming, and it’s going to be hell.

XxX

The world is spinning lazily around Jughead; the cool metal is comforting against his back, the spinning stops and Archie sits up, blocking the sun from view. They left school a half hour ago, making their way to their childhood playground in silence. He’s too busy thinking, trying to find a way out of this mess, searching with a fine tooth comb for a way to make people see the monster Bryce truly is. He wants to make him sorry, make him pay. He wants for everyone to see the beast inside that relished in the cruel act he committed. Jughead wants revenge; he wants to ruin him, make it so he can’t leave his house without being afraid, terrified for their life.

Because he was afraid that night, he thought the pain; the brutality would kill him and if it didn’t then surely the fear that had made a home within his chest would. He is terrified for his life; dark thoughts kept rising from the depths. It took all his strength to fight them off, to strive off the urge to swallow pills or slit his wrist, to make all that fear, grief, shame and misery just disappear. It would be so easy, slip into the tub, down one too many pills and lights out. Horror show over, roll the credits. He could end it all. There were flickering heart-wrenching moments when he wanted it to stop, for everything to stop, it was terrifying, he couldn’t trust himself.

Then the anger finally came, it ignited inside his chest and spread to every nerve, every cell in his body, and suddenly he felt alive. He felt calm, felt ready to start a war, to plant his feet firmly on the ground and scream, scream the truth for all to hear, for all to see. He was standing in the eye of the storm, ready to command the winds and rain, make it pour, make hurricanes rise up and destroy everything in their path. He was done running, done cowering, done breaking. Bryce couldn’t get away with this, money and power would not shelter him from this storm, from Jughead’s rage.

The game was on, he could tell his lies, smile and pretend he was oblivious, innocent, but Jug was not backing down. The truth had to be set free, he needed it desperately, and he had to strike while the fire was still burning bright, fuelling him with courage, with stupid bravery and a hunger for revenge. He needed a plan of action, a way for everyone to hear the truth, but there is no evidence, no proof other than this silly game of he said, she said, and short of getting Bryce to confess then he is left without much hope.

Confess… if Bryce admitted to raping him he could play it for the whole school to hear; he could make this whole damn town listen. It would be risky, it might not work but it’s worth a try, anything is better than nothing. He looks to Archie, words on the tip of his tongue but his best friend looks forlorn, worn down by the darkness that has descended upon them and Jug fears if he tells Archie then he won’t let him go through with it. He wouldn’t risk his safety, and while the sentiment is sweet, it’s unnecessary, mainly because it’s too late. The worst has already happened and if he corners Bryce at school then surely he would be safe.

The risks were high, he would feel more comfortable, safe with Archie by his side but Bryce wouldn’t confess to them both. He didn’t want to drag anyone else into this mess or put them in danger. Like Archie said he had to be his own hero and this right here, this was how.

***

“What are you thinking about, Jug?”

“Nothing” he shrugged “everything.”

“Do you need to talk about what happened at school?”

“Which part?” he asked, getting up from the roundabout and heading towards the rusty swing set. “The part where someone painted liar onto my locker with blood or the part where I faced off with the guy who raped me?” he sits heavily in the seat, chains rattling, straining to hold it together after years of neglect and harsh weather.

“All of it” Archie stood before him, leaning against the framework, brown eyes full of love and desire to help, to fix this God awful mess.

“I feel angry” he admitted “and I’m hurt” his voice wavered, dark lashes fluttering to chase away the tears. “Bryce looked me right in the eyes and acted like he did nothing wrong, and I’m starting to think that he actually believes that. That he thought what he did to me was okay, and that hurts.” He chokes back a sob, has to stop and breathe and tell himself to keep it together, that Bryce doesn’t deserve any more tears, but it’s so hard, the rage isn’t strong enough to chase all the sorrow from this fragile heart. “It makes me feel like I deserved it, that I was somehow asking for it.”

“Juggie” Archie knelt before him, strong hands resting on his thighs, “That isn’t true; you didn’t deserve this or ask for it to happen. Bryce can think that whatever the hell he wants but that doesn’t change the fact that what he did to you was wrong. He raped you, and you didn’t want it, any of it.”

Jughead shivers as Archie’s words settle between them, he can’t find anything to say in response, so he nods takes Archie’s hand into his own, fingers lacing together. Coldness seeps throughout his veins, Archie’s words reminding him that they had both been hurt, both used and abused while their abusers paraded around like they did nothing wrong. Archie was starting to come undone, starting to accept the truth that Jughead never had the heart to point out to him. Miss Grundy had raped him, she’d dressed it up as an affair, something fun and thrilling but it didn’t change the fact it was wrong. She’d used him, strung him along like a plaything.

The world had allowed monsters into their lives; they snuck in disguised as good people, as a friend, as a teacher. They should have been safe in a town like this, it was once wholesome, a place of bright, glittery memories and days of innocence, now it was tarnished, innocence lost, stolen in the dark, lost in the blinding daylight. Darkness had found them; it hurt them and left them suspended in misery, in this fucking awful limbo of nightmares and panic. Archie couldn’t break free of this hell the same way Jug could, he at least had a plan to get justice, but Miss Grundy had skipped town, disappeared without a trace and somewhere another boy could be falling apart under her wicked touch.

When this was over they had to go after her; they had to make sure she was held accountable for what she had done. There were enough monsters in this world, they wore letterman jackets, glasses and heels, they appeared kind, friendly, but underneath were twisted desires. Had Bryce wanted to rape someone for a while? Had he been watching Jughead while he was looking the other way, oblivious to what someone was planning for him, unaware that someone wanted to hurt him in this most intimate way? The thought sends shivers racing up his spine, makes him feel sick, foolish for not noticing the predator watching his every move.

It wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t have known, and Archie was right, it wasn’t something he deserved or asked for, even though in the darkest hours the thoughts flickered amongst the chaos inside his mind. The renewed flames were struggling to stay lit under the weight of their conversation, in the reveal of his deepest secrets. He has to remain strong, hold onto hope, to Archie and keep the flames burning bright, stay in control of the storm because he can either destroy Bryce with it or let it destroy him.

“You’re shivering” Archie is standing up, shrugging off the letterman jacket and helping him into it, the sleeves are too long, but it chases away the chill, “It looks good on you.”

Archie smiles warmly down at him; it stirs awake butterflies in Jug’s stomach. It’s a pleasant feeling, better than the grief and fear he has been drowning in. He’d almost forgotten how Archie made him feel nervous, made him think about what else they could be. Shaking the thought away, he stuffs his hands deep into the pockets, sighing wearily, they are both so messed up, so very hurt and now is not the time for him to think about the way Archie looks at him with curious lust and infatuation.

Or he did, before Bryce.

He shouldn’t follow the white rabbit, shouldn’t think about how Archie might not want him now he is tainted, how Archie might not him want because even before he was raped, he was never very interested in sex unless it could be with Archie. The truth is he’s never actually found himself sexually attracted to anyone else and it was never a strong urge; more of just a desire to share something intimate with Archie. Jughead wasn’t sure how he would feel about the whole thing afterwards, but if he was going to test the waters; it was supposed to be with someone he loved. With the only person, he’d ever loved.

Sex seemed terrifying now, though logically he knows that what happened to him wasn’t sex. It was painful, disgusting, humiliating and the mere thought of letting anyone, even Archie, be intimate with him makes anxiety rise in the back of his throat. Bryce ruined the one thing Jughead wanted to share with Archie; he violently stole his virginity like it meant nothing, not caring that Jughead was unsure of his sexuality and this made everything worse.

Now he doesn’t know where the uncertainty starts, or the fear ends, and he still isn’t sure of Archie’s feeling towards him. Jug’s noticed a few interesting looks, brown eyes staring a little too long, a little too intense and that in itself was a problem. Because sometimes he swore he found lust flickering in his best friend’s eyes and as of right now he can’t give Archie what he wants, what he might secretly desire. There was so much to figure out, to sort through and present to the light of day. His head, his heart is a mess, and Jughead doesn’t know how to overcome any of it.

What happened when he got revenge, justice? What happened when the fire burnt out and the darkness rolled back in to remind him that a part of him was broken, that a small ruined part of him wanted to end it all? When did the sorrow end, would there be a day, far off in the wake of spring or the heat of summer where he felt okay again, where he felt better? Would he have to drag himself over broken glass and through nightmares, PSTD and really fucking awful days, weeks and months to get there? There answer is yes, he would have to tear himself apart, hurt and break in order to heal. They both would, but there was no point starting today.

First, he had to get closure or else he might never be able to heal, and he doesn’t want to stay in this darkness forever. It’s partly why he is considering going into hospital, his parents aren’t equipped to deal with this, and Archie needs help himself. He knows Archie will always support him, but it’s too much for him to fix Jug alone. He wants to get better, to deal with this, with everything, because in truth, he was falling apart long before Bryce. This was just the tipping point, the shove that had him teetering on the edge and he might not have toppled over yet, but he came close.

The need for retribution was fuelling him, but it could be snuffed out easily. He didn’t want to kill himself, didn’t want Bryce to win, but there were fleeting moments where the darkness whispered to him, take the pills, get a sharp knife, end it all, make it stop. All it would take is a one too many nights without sleep, a really bad fucking day and he might listen to the whispers, might break apart and become so weak that he overdoses or reaches for a blade. He is terrified of not being strong enough, terrified that once his need for justice has been fulfilled, he’ll fall apart, that the darkness will come roaring back in. It could happen any moment, so he has to hold onto the anger, channel it into a raging storm while he can.

When he has slain the beast, played the role of hero he’ll do the right thing, he’ll go somewhere where he can heal, where he’ll be safe. As the day starts its slow descent into dusk, he’ll take Archie’s hand; exhale the swirling thoughts and inhale strength, courage and stupid bravery. As they walk home he looks up at the sky, he doesn’t know if there is anything up there looking down on them, but if there is if there is something beyond his understanding he hopes they hear him think, beg ‘please, please let me be brave.’

XxX

FP is waiting on the front porch when they arrive home, Archie is lagging behind, having a hushed conversation with his father who had been ringing for a while now but Archie had only decided to answer once they’d left the playground. Jughead lets Archie finish speaking to his dad, ascending the steps alone to face his father. He doesn’t look angry; he looks exhausted, eyes red and shadowed, lips pressed into a thin line; he looks done. Like he is ready to walk away and let Jug drown alone in the misery and the pain, leave him, go back to the Serpents and never look back, start over without the burden of the kid he could never really understand.

He steps forward when Jughead reaches the porch, arms reaching out to pull him into a crushing embrace. Jug collapses into the warmth, holding on for dear life, he has to stop the dark thoughts, the whispers that taunt him with ugly lies. His dad isn’t going anywhere; despite all this he still loves him. When they break apart Archie is climbing up the stairs; he pats Jughead on the arm as he walks by, disappearing into the house to give them a moment of privacy. They sit on the old porch swing; above them, a chime sings a sweet melody in the gentle breeze.

“Your Principal called, said someone vandalised your locker, and you were pretty upset about it.”

“I didn’t care about the locker, not really. It’s not like this is the first time someone has written something on it” his father’s eyes darkened, anger flashing in their depths. Jughead turned his gaze towards Betty’s house, studying the pristine white paint as he chewed his bottom lip, struggling to get the following words out. “I was going to ignore it and go to class but when I turned around…” breath hitches in his lungs, the mere memory making cold fear trickle through him, “I saw Bryce standing there… I started freaking out, and things escalated.” Taking a deep breath, he tried to hold back the tears, to keep it together in front of his dad “I had a panic attack, and they all laughed and took photos like I was their weekly entertainment.” He shakes away the images, the bright white flash that triggered unwanted memories. “Archie came out of nowhere and tackled Bryce and Cheryl helped Betty and Veronica get me to the Blue and Gold.”

FP doesn’t speak; eyes flickering with rage, with cold fury, body rigid; Jughead fears he’ll snap any minute now.

“Where were you last night?” he had his theories, he was either at the bar with the Serpents or at the trailer, drinking away his troubles, drowning the problems instead of facing them. Drinking alone instead of being here, where he was desperately needed.

“I sat outside the Danvers’ house all night” he replied, knuckles turning white as hands balled into fists. “I sat there looking at their perfect home, watching them sit down for dinner like nothing was wrong. It took all my strength not to go to the door, ring the bell and tell them what kind of fucking monster they had for a son. I thought about all the ways I’d like to make him sorry for what he did to you, make it so he could never hurt anyone like that ever again. But every time I went to get out of the car I stopped and remembered that it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t undo what he did to you, and the best thing I can do for you, is be here.” A strong arm wraps around Jug’s thin shoulders, the touch comforting, a silent promise to stay, to never leave again. “It’s all you asked of me, and I’m going to be here for you, I’m going to get my shit together so I can take care of you.”

“I know dad” he offered him a half-hearted smile “does this mean you and mum have changed your mind about me going to the Psychiatric hospital?”

“Your mum still wanted to when I spoke to her last, but if you don’t want to, then I’ll tell her it’s not happening.”

“It might not be such a bad idea” he admitted, drawing his knees up to lace his arms around. “Everything is so hard right now, I’m struggling to keep it together, and I never know what my next mood is going to be like, it’s a mess in here” he tapped at his temple, lashes fluttering to chase away tears. “I’m scared of my thoughts, I’m scared I’m not going to be strong enough, not all the time and it feels like I am drowning and I am trying so hard to stay afloat, but I’m tired.” He closed his eyes, hating the look on his father’s face; he wants to say ‘I don’t know how long I can keep swimming for.’ He wants his father to know that he is unravelling but if he does he will risk losing his chance for justice.

He needs to do this while he has the courage before the flames turn to embers to ash. He is barely holding onto the storm, and if he lets it destroy him instead of Bryce, he might never come back from it. He has accepted that he will need help, that there will be chaos in the aftermath and there has already been terrifying moments that have come so close to breaking, to ending him. Right now he has a goal to move towards, the need for retribution fuelling him; it will fade, though. It could fade before the day is done but it’s a risk he’s willing to take to be his own damn hero.

Maybe, in the end, he will find the strength to carry on and the fear of himself will disappear, replaced with the power to move forwards all on his own. Only time can tell, he meant it when he said he doesn’t know what his next mood will be or what the following hour or minute will bring. He just needs to keep going, tether himself to his dad, to Archie and when this over, he can allow himself to fall apart completely, to feel every emotion surge through him. Perhaps, in the end, he will have to shatter, break into a thousand tiny sharp pieces once more in order to fully heal because right now he has haphazardly stuck the shards back together and jagged and jaded is no way to go through life.

“Jughead, if you think you’re going to hurt yourself you need to tell me” his father is saying, voice deadly calm but his eyes give way the truth. He is terrified of losing his son, of having this God awful thing destroy him because he isn’t good enough or strong enough to make him better.

“I’m not” it’s a lie, he’s danced around the idea of swallowing pills, he found comfort, focus in the painful clutch of Cheryl’s nails and its already set a safety net in motion, not a very good one but it will do for now. Pain anchors him to the world; it chases away the dark, spiralling, maddening thoughts and helps him refocus. He knows this isn’t a good idea, but it’s a temporary solution, and it is better than giving in to the whispers. “I’m just tired, stressed and depressed” he shrugged, stepping into the role of sardonic humour with ease “what teen isn’t though?” His father levels him with an intense stare, a promise that he sees right through the façade. He sighs, backs down, and Jug deflates, he isn’t sure he would have been able to put up much of a fight.

At least he’s bought himself some time; he isn’t sure how long his dad will let the obvious lie slip, for now, he’ll take what he can get. He needs to act while the fire is still burning strong; he has a plan to get Bryce to confess. He just needs to be brave, so very stupidly brave.

XxX

Archie hesitates inside, hovering by the door before forcing himself to leave, to give Jug and FP some privacy. He heads to the kitchen in search of food, he’s not really that hungry, but he wants something to keep him busy, to stop his mind wandering to dark places. The conversation he had with Jughead in the playground keeps flashing through his mind, the thoughts aren’t even about what happened to Juggie but rather what went down between him and Miss Grundy. It feels selfish to compare what Geraldine did with him, did to him with what Bryce did to Jughead. Maybe he’s all messed up, splintering under the weight of this hellish week and he is just confused.

It’s not the same; he berates himself, it was fine, it’s fine. He is fine; he just needs to clear his head, eat something then he’ll feel better. He doesn’t get to come apart, not when this isn’t about him when he isn’t the victim. Remaining strong is the best thing he can do for Jug, keep it together and focus on getting back at Bryce, at turning everyone against him. Reveal the true monster underneath. He doesn’t know how, it hasn’t been enough to tell others that Jug isn’t lying, it hasn’t changed anything. There has to be a way to make them believe; make them see the truth they are so blindly ignoring.

Taking out his cell he sends Betty a text, asking her if she or Veronica have thought of anything that could help Jug. By the time he has the pizza cooking in the oven Betty has replied, they have apparently gathered with Cheryl, Josie, Valerie and Melody to start a hashtag to show support for Jughead, it’s nothing huge or groundbreaking, but it’s a start. At least it will show Jug that people do believe him, that they support him even if they have never meant him. Betty is also going to write a piece for the Blue and Gold, Archie isn’t sure if it’s a good idea and tells her to ask Jug for permission first, but sometimes once Betty gets her mind set on something there is no stopping her.

This is a start, a stepping stone in the right direction and hopefully, this will change people’s opinions or at least start questioning Bryce’s story. It’s maddening that most of the school won’t even consider that Bryce is lying, that he is a rapist and Jughead is the victim, is hurt and breaking apart under the cruelty and disbelief. Bryce is perfect to them; he is untouchable and so easily bought an alibi and sold a story about helping a sick friend home just before midnight, before the time of Jughead’s assault. He lies with a wicked tongue and walks away with a devilish smirk and the longer he is out there, the more worried Archie becomes for Jug’s safety.

He could hurt him again; he could drive Jug to the deep end just by standing close to him, by shadowing his every move. Archie doesn’t trust the dark glint flickering in Bryce’s eyes, doesn’t trust that he’s done with Jughead. He needs to know why Bryce chose him, was it something he’d thought about before? Did he enjoy violating Jug, relish in the thrill of it? Was there anything human at all inside him or was he a monster, doing monstrous things to good people, to Archie’s best friend? Perhaps one day he’ll get a chance to know, maybe one day he can slam him up against a locker and demand he tells the truth. Tell him why he thought it was okay to rape Jughead and believe he could get away with it.

One day he might get answers, might find Miss Grundy in a faraway place driving down the street in her old yellow Volkswagen, red heart sunglasses on her face, tongue twisting around the straw of a milkshake. He’ll ask her why him? Why did she think it was okay to turn a ride home into something more, something his body said he wanted, but his mind felt conflicted about, even as it happened again and again? One day the truth might come out. The monsters might confess to their sins, but until then their victims had to live in the dark, in the disaster they left behind.

Fighting back the tears at the surge of repressed emotions, Archie shakes the thoughts from his head once more. It’s still not okay for him to breakdown, to make this about him and what his tired and grief-stricken brain is implying. Jughead appears in the kitchen, a small smile playing on his lips for the first time in what feels like centuries. The darkness within Archie dispels, rushes out in a long sigh and a feeble smile. He walks over to his best friend and pulls him in for a hug, needing to hold onto something real, to someone who loves him and would never hurt him.

“You okay, Arch?”

He leans back, holding Jug at arm’s length; he really does look charming in the blue and gold letterman jacket, even if it engulfs his slim frame. “Yeah, I’m good” he replied, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “I have some good news; Betty and Ronnie have started a hashtag for you. I know it’s kinda lame, but they thought it would help.”

“So I am reduced to a hashtag now, am I?” his voice is light, teasing, it’s nice to hear.

“Hey, at least you’re popular on the internet” he quipped, enjoying the break in the storm.

“Yeah, all I had to do was get raped for people to notice me.”

He knows Jug is being sardonic that this is precisely the way Archie predicted he’d act at some point but hearing the pain underlining the words breaks his heart, reminds him that even these little moments of something close to happiness are going to be fleeting. He won’t berate Jughead for using this as a way to cope; there is no right or wrong way to react to this is. There are no rules for Jug to follow and no manuals for Archie to read. They are dealing with this anyway they can, be it crying, raging, breaking, sarcasm or presenting a cold façade to the world, they are struggling through this mess the best they can.

“Sorry” Jug apologises, lifting himself up on the bench, “I know that’s not funny.”

“You don’t have to be sorry Jug” Archie reassured, slipping up onto the bench beside him. “You get to cope with this however you want, and if that’s through sardonic humour, then that’s okay.”

“I guess I’m just sick of crying” he rests his head on Archie’s shoulder, body sagging under the weight of the world. “I’m so over feeling miserable and so fucking afraid all of the time.”

Archie doesn’t know what to say; there aren’t any words that will help, that will ease the fear and misery. It’s completely okay for Juggie to be sad, to be afraid, but Archie fears that constantly feeling these things are going to be what drives Jug towards the edge. He needs to feel something more than misery, sorrow, and fear; it feels like aeons since they last laughed since they joked around late at night when they should have been sleeping. It’s been too long since they’ve smiled in joy, in the warm sun or over milkshakes at Pops. The light hasn’t reached them, and each day it’s getting harder and harder to hold onto the hope that it will come back.

But it has to, it will because they just had a fleeting moment of something close to happiness and there were whispers of smiles, it was a delicate light-hearted moment, but it was a moment. They just had to keep pressing on, fighting for each other and holding on for the light. Something has stirred deep inside Jug; a burst of fire has given him a brief smile, the strength to carry on even after this God-awful day. Archie looks at him, sees the embers glowing in his eye. He might feel afraid, but Archie see’s the hero coming to life beneath the ash and ruin, he just has to blow the embers into sparks, into a fire and hopefully, that will be enough to save his best friend’s life.

XxX

Jughead’s on a mission. He walks with purpose, ignoring the lingering eyes and the wispy tendrils of fear that cling to his skin, that skitter through his veins. Fear will not cage him, not today. He has to push it aside, swallow it down and get this done. He’s on a mission, and it's terrifying to be alone, to have left Archie talking with the football coach, but he has to do this by himself, Archie would only try to stop him. He’s rummaging around in the closet that for a short while was his home; he knows there is a tape recorder in here somewhere; he remembers seeing it weeks ago. He’s supposed to be heading to the office to get a slip from the receptionist so he can leave early for his doctor’s appointment if Archie shows up and he’s not there he’ll start to worry.

Finally, he spots it high up on a shelf, half hidden in cobwebs and decade old newspapers. Standing on his toes he reaches for it, scattering the papers on the floor below, ignoring them he tucks the recorder safely into his laptop bag and makes a quick exit. Hastily stepping into the hallway he nearly collides with Cheryl, she fixes him with a curious glare, red lips stretching into an impish smile. The strangest thing happens; she links her arm through his and starts leading them through the sea of gawking students. She leads them to the girl's bathroom, he hesitates at the door, but she drags him in, telling the three freshman girls to ‘get out’ they scramble, not even glancing back to see that one of them has left her lip gloss behind on the bench.

“Whatever you're up to I want in” Cheryl doesn’t look at him while she speaks, gaze taking in her reflection as she reapplies her signature blood red lipstick.

“Who says I’m up to something?” it feels more like Cheryl is planning, is plotting and though she has been kind to him in the past few days, he still doesn’t trust her completely.

“Of course your up to something” she spins around, red hair dancing like flames. “Bryce has half this dim-witted school believing his lies, and I can’t imagine you want to be the boy who cried rape forever.”

Jug folded his arms over his chest, feeling vulnerable under Chery’s cold, piercing gaze. She wants something, she wants this school back under her well-manicured thumb, and with Bryce calling her liar it has knocked the crown right off the top of her pretty head. She might be able to scare a few freshmen, but her throne is being dismantled. It started with the death of Jason, and this was just one more knock, soon she’d topple, and a queen didn’t give up without a fight. He doesn’t care about her thirst to reign over this school, her desire to remain in control means nothing to him. Its trivial and petty compared to what has been done to him, to the people he loves. Still, she offers some form of protection; she can part crowds and demand attention. He could use an ally, even if it was Cheryl Blossom.

“I’m going to make Bryce confess” he wished his voice was steady, that it sounded strong but his words quavered, and he fumbled to retrieve the recorder from his bag. Stumbling, trembling, this is not the person he used to be. He’d been sure, steady, a mere observer to the chaos unfolding around him. Perhaps he looked too long, stepped a little too close, and that was all the invitation that the chaos, the darkness needed to invite themselves into his life. He wants the trembling to stop, for the fear to cease, to have steady hands and a confident voice again.

“A forced confession won’t hold up in court.”

“I know that I’m not an idiot” he snaps, she smirks, it makes him uncomfortable. He actually never considered Cheryl to be smart, cunning, yes, but he always assumed she was just another cardboard copy mean girl that was found in every American high school. She was something else; there was more to her than her fiery nature and cold heart, the girl who stormed his party dressed in a tight black dress and fur coat was just the face she presented to the world. Under the florescent lights of the bathroom, behind the blood-red smirk was the Cheryl Blossom who put Archie to bed, who risked her reputation and wrath of her parents to tell Sheriff Keller the truth.

She was trying to pretend that this was all about her, act like she didn’t care about him, but he could see the guilt shimmer in her dark eyes. She wanted to try and make this right; she was offering him help without showing how much she truly wanted him to accept it. Unfolding his arms, he drops his defences, lowers the towering walls and Cheryl does the same. She leans back against the bench, smirk fading from her face and fierceness from her eyes.

“I just want everyone to know” sagging against the closed stall door, feeling heavy under the weight of the confession, Jughead closed his eyes to hide the tears. “I want Bryce to know what he did to me was wrong and for it to not happen again. I want to stop feeling so afraid.” The words slip free from his mouth before he can swallow them, he wasn’t going to reveal this much, he didn’t want Chery’s pity or sympathy. He wasn’t seeking comfort, not from her. The words hovered in the space between them, unable to be plucked from the air and forced back in.

“Jason wouldn’t have walked away” she whispered, looking down at her booted feet. “He would have saved you. He would have done the right thing but I didn’t, I never do! My need for chaos is why you were raped in the first place. I invited Bryce, I invited the monster in, and you know why I did it? Because I was jealous Archie didn’t want me, I was jealous that he had friends and I had nothing. I wanted to feel important, to distract myself with destruction so I didn’t have to feel the loneliness, the emptiness. I want to make this right; I have to do something to fix my mistake.”

He reopens his eyes, taking in the slump of her shoulders and the pain in her eyes. “Cheryl this isn’t your fault” he can’t believe he is saying this, is absolving her of the guilt but it’s the truth, it’s not her fault. He doesn’t tell her she can’t fix this, can’t fix him. He is the only one who can put the pieces back together again, and they can help, they can catch him when he falls or if he stumbles, but he has to be the one to save himself. “I need someone to convince Dilton Doily to play the confession to the school. Think you can help me out with that?”

Lashes flutter, chasing away the tears and sorrow, her lips quirk into a self-assured smile, and she looks like the fiery ice princess once more. “Piece of cake, but may I make a suggestion? We play the recording at Friday night’s game? Half the town will be there to hear that their star player is a devil in disguise.”

He hesitates, football games are big things in this town, the mayor will be there, and Archie will be playing if the coach hasn’t kicked him off for missing practice every day this week. Sheriff Keller might be present, Betty and her family, Veronica and her mum, they’d all be there. Everyone he loved and a town full of strangers would hear the truth, would be forced to listen to Bryce Danvers confess, and once they heard the words from his very lips, there would be no more denying. It was terrifying, he doesn’t know how this will end but Cheryl is looking at him with victory already shining in her eyes, and he promised to be brave, stupidly brave, so he says ‘let’s do it’ before he can change his mind.

Cheryl closed the distance between them, and to his surprise, she takes his hand into her own. He looks up to meet her eyes; they are filled with compassion, with respect and a hint of rebellion. “This is your victory march Jughead Jones, are you ready?”

Heart flooding with strength, with courage, lips twisting into a fleeting smirk he says “yes,” and for today he has beaten the fear, has escaped its shackles and climbed out of the cage. He has to hold tight to this moment, keep it safe and unfold it whenever he weavers. Maybe, just maybe he will be strong enough to get through this, to pick up the sharp, glistening pieces and put himself slowly and painfully back together. Perhaps, oh perhaps he will get to be his own damn hero after all.

XxX

Archie’s still simmering with rage when he and Jug walk into to the cafeteria for lunch; his chance at getting out of this town, of getting into a good college for his music is gone. He is partly to blame, he has missed football practice every day this week, and when he asked the coach to cut Bryce, he really put the last nail in his coffin. Apparently, it's not okay to miss practice to look after a friend who was raped, but it’s okay to let to the person who violated said friend stay on the team. It’s probably for the best; Archie couldn’t bear sharing a school with Bryce let alone spend a night on the field with him.

He’s mostly just mad that he didn’t quiet before this. Veronica and Betty had declined to cheer at this Friday night's game earlier in the week, and to his surprise, Cheryl had actually allowed it without cutting them from the squad. This was a strange new world, and Archie felt so unsure of it. He didn’t know who to trust, who were the true monsters, the real friends? College has slipped from his grasp, and his best friend is still struggling through the days, shaking of the taunts and the whispers. The rage is building to fury; he is so sick of this, of the twisted tales that have turned Jughead into a liar, an attention seeker or a slut.

They had every word at the ready; they wanted to destroy Jug, to crush him under their cruelty and silly little games. If this continued Archie feared that eventually it would be too much and Jug would snap, the last straining pieces would shatter. Or maybe it’s Archie who was ready to snap under the weight of the cold, mocking stares. Shatter under the pressure of pretending to be okay when he really fucking wasn’t. The night of the party Cheryl and Chuck revealed his dirty little secret to a house full of judging eyes. They figured out he had an affair with Miss Grundy and while he sat there, remaining silent, his secret was brought into the light.

There were no whispers about that, no rumours or warped tales flooding his social media accounts. They didn’t care; they were having too much fun tearing Jughead apart. He wonders if it’s because Jug told the truth because he dared to tell the authorities that he was raped and that had repercussions. There had been questions, an investigation and Archie could only imagine there were some unhappy parents and some very grounded kids. Was this just about them being bitter or did they hate Juggie so much that they were actually enjoying this? They weren’t letting this go; they were having too much fun.

Surveying the noisy cafeteria, Archie finds heads turning their way and hears the endless murmured whispers trickling among the chatter. Trying to ignore it, he focuses on his friends; they are sitting at their usual table, talking and eating lunch like they do every other day. Only it’s different, Betty is trying to convince Jug to let her write a story for him in the Blue and Gold, but he isn’t comfortable with it, he doesn’t want a bunch of people who don’t care about him having insight into the worst night of his life. He seems a little distressed, Archie takes his hand and tells Betty, a little harsher than he would have liked to back off.

“Sorry” Betty apologises, dropping her gaze “I just think it might help.”

“Trust me; it won’t” Jughead countered, “If they don’t care now then an article in a school newspaper won’t change their minds.”

“Not everyone is against you, though, Juggie” Betty pressed. “Our hashtag was trending this morning; people do care, they will listen to your story.”

“I don’t want them to read my story” he snapped. “I don’t even want to talk to you guys about it; it’s too much, too soon. I am barely holding it together as it is so I don’t need to sit down for a little heart to heart and tell you how fucking awful it was to be raped.”

Archie doesn’t stop Jughead from shooting to his feet and storming off; he shoots Betty a look of disapproval before following after him. Jughead hasn’t gotten far; he’s standing just outside the cafeteria doors, having been stopped by Josie and Valerie. Archie jogs up to them; he hasn’t spoken to Val since they broke up; she briefly catches his gaze before returning her attention to Jughead. Josie is declaring her loyalty to Jug, telling him if there is anything he needs to let her and The Pussycats know. It's sweet of them, Jug seems a little taken aback by their kindness, and it breaks Archie’s heart all over again.

Jughead isn’t used to being treated with compassion, before this he was invisible, only coming into focus when one of the jocks wanted to pick on him or take out their frustration on his body. Was that all Jug was to people, a punching bag, a little bit of entertainment, just the loner from the wrong side of the tracks? When Archie looked at Jughead, he saw a sharp tongue, a kind, courageous soul, a head full of stories and a heart full of hopes and dreams. Jughead Jones was the boy he shared his first kiss with, who used to ride around on the handlebars of his bike because his family couldn’t afford to buy him a bike. Jughead was his best friend and the boy he had slowly and steadily fallen in love with.

The people of this school didn’t see any of those things. They either saw the liar or the victim, not the person underneath. He was someone to spite or pity, and it was wrong, it was maddening. Archie is bristling with rage as Josie and Valery walk off, he wants to smash something, to break and destroy these people the way they are breaking and killing his best friend. He’s storming away, there is no destination in mind, but he has to move, to stretch the fury from his muscles or else he’ll explode.

He sense’s Jughead following in his steps; he should stop; calm the raging storm before it escalates, forcing him to do something he might regret. His feet carry him to Bryce’s locker on their own accord; he stares at the white metal door, takes a deep breath and swings a fist at it. It fucking hurts, but he can’t stop, can’t tame the fury. It feels good to let loose, to hurt; to feel something other than the sorrow and misery. He hits the locker over and over until Jughead pulls him back, shoving the weight of his body against Archie’s solid frame to jar him back to reality.

He stumbles back, taking in the dent and speckles of blood, taking in the frightened look in his best friend’s eyes. Guilt screams to life, smothering the fire, knocking the air from his lungs and sweeping his legs right out from underneath him. He collapses under the weight of what he just did; he doesn’t care about his aching hand or the damaged locker. He cares about the fear that has paralysed Jug. Archie is mumbling apologies, gasping in shaky breaths and scrambling back against the opposite wall of lockers.

“I’m sorry Jug” he can’t look at him, doesn’t want to see the fear reflected back at him.

“It’s fine” Jug sits down beside him, eyes glued to Bryce’s locker.

“It’s not” Archie protested, “I frightened you.”

“A little” he muttered, finally turning to face Archie, eyes free of fear. “I’ll never be scared of you, Archie.”

“And I never want you to be but… lately, I’ve just been so angry. My head is full of dark thoughts, and I’m starting to question the person I am” he sighed, head hitting the locker as he slumped against it. “I want to hurt Bryce; I want to make him suffer for what he did to you, for what he is still doing to you.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Arch” he vowed. “It makes you a loyal and pissed off friend” a fleeting smile lit up his eyes, Archie felt the anger wane at the sight of it. “I want to hurt Bryce too; I want to make him feel as afraid as I do every day.” Jug’s head drops to Archie’s shoulder; he rests his chin against the soft, worn fabric of Jughead’s beanie. “Sometimes it feels like this like could kill me.”

“Don’t say that Juggie” Archie needs Jug to be alright, to survive this; he needs the fire to keep burning. “Do you still carry your pocket knife?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Give it to me.” Jug fishes the old Swiss army knife from his pocket, handing it to Archie with a look of puzzlement. He doesn’t take it; instead, he folds Jug’s fingers around it, points to Bryce’s locker and says “Make this school know who he really is. Make Bryce afraid, make him regret ever hurting you.”

Jughead looks between him and the locker, holding the knife loosely in his palm, the moment he makes up his mind his fingers tighten, determination hardening his features. Rising on steady legs he closes the distance in a few short strides, Archie rises just as the blade starts curving into the metal. He keeps an eye out; the hall remains empty, Jughead steps back, pocketing the knife, admiring his work. Etched into Bryce’s locker is one word, is the truth of whom he really is, a Rapist.

“Feel any better?” he asked, tentatively placing a comforting hand on Jug’s shoulder.

“Not really” the corner of his mouth twitches into a fleeting smirk, blue eyes shimmer with a raging storm “But I will.”

Archie has this feeling Jug is plotting something, there is a glint in those blue eyes that makes him want to know more, to stay here and ask what is going on. But the bell is ringing, and they need to get out of here before they are seen. This conversation isn’t over, Archie will find out what he means by ‘I will’. For now, they are running away from the scene of the crime, and it feels fucking good to be the ones in charge of the chaos for once.

XxX

It’s cold waiting in the examination room for the doctor. Jughead’s dressed only in a paper-thin gown and it makes him feel vulnerable, has anxiety waking and memories threatening to escape the box he’s tightly sealed them in. Jughead doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to go through this again; it seems unnecessary. He is fine; there isn’t any more discomfort between his legs, the bruises have faded, there are no more physical reminders of what Bryce did to him. If it weren’t for the nightmares, the panic attacks and dark thoughts trying to break free he would be completely fine; it would be like nothing ever happened. Expect it did; expect that even though the bruises are gone the pain remains. The phantom touch of violent hands and brutal thrusts follow him out of his dream and chase him into the waking world.

He is doing a good job of hiding how truly fucked up he is, how truly broken he has become. It’s easier to pretend, to lock away the memories and shake off the phantom touches when he focuses on getting justice, on finding a way out of this nightmare. Vandalising Bryce’s locker had felt good; it was nice to take hold of his life again, to not cower and let the school call him a liar. For that brief moment, he felt powerful, free of fear. It’s slowly trickled back in since stripping off; the flames are turning to ice under the anxiety of what is to come.

Archie is sitting by the bed, absentmindedly carding his fingers through Jug’s raven locks; it’s comforting but not enough to dull the anxiety. He tries to clear his mind of all thoughts, to breathe out the fear and stop the panic attack before it can overtake him. Archie senses his distress; he starts talking about the road trip they have yet to go on, he promises they’ll go this summer, just the two of them and it will be epic. Jug would like that, escape Riverdale, find an open road and drive to some far off town that doesn’t know their names or their stories. They’ll go to the beach; they’ll spend all day in the sun and forget the darkness, the pain, for a time at least.

The thoughts of a far off road trip are enough to get him through the exam and questions. Archie’s fingers in his hair keep the darkness at bay; his warm gaze strives off the panic attack. He still feels anxious, still shivers and flinches when she touches him but he remains calm, keeps breathing. When it’s over, he dresses in a hurry, trying to chase away the chill but his teeth are still chattering when the doctor returns with his dad. Archie wraps a strong arm around his narrow shoulders; he leans in seeking the warmth.

The anxiety is getting too much. He wants to go home, have a hot shower than curl up in bed beside Archie and play video games or watch TV, not listen to the doctor tell his dad that the tears have healed, there is no scarring, and there will be no complications from the assault. Her work here is done, his body has healed, the damage is invisible, the splinters and cracks cannot be seen. He should take some comfort in knowing Bryce didn’t permanently damage his body, but pain can be managed, the emotional scarring will last a lifetime.

He knows in time he will need help, will have to talk about what happened that night. Will have to open his mouth and tell someone about how terrified he was, how much it hurt and how he felt so alone, how even now he feels it. There is a deep ache of loneliness growing inside his heart, his soul. He feels so far away from his friends, from their shiny lives and bright futures. He is out of place among them, even more so than ever before. It is unfair to think of their lives as perfect. He knows there not, they all have their own problems and demons to battle, but this is different. They’ll never really understand; they’ll never know what it’s like to be raped, to be followed around by the ghost of who they were.

And it’s not like he wants them to know, he’d never wish this on anyone, but there is now a divide between them and him that wasn’t there before. He’s a fucking tragedy, a victim and nothing is going to change that. He can get justice, can ruin Bryce, but he is still going to be those things. Swirling, maddening thoughts are sending him down a dark path. He has managed to hold it together all through school, but now the threads are fraying. He needs to get out of here, to clear his head and breathe in something other than the smell of antiseptic.

Without asking for permission to leave he takes Archie’s hand and leads them from the room, ignoring his father when he calls after him. He doesn’t stop walking until they are outside and he is inhaling lungfuls of fresh autumn air. He can feel Archie’s eyes on his back, a moment later and he has stepped closer, reaching for him. Jughead collapses into Archie’s embrace, burying his face in the fabric of his jacket to hide the tears. He doesn’t feel alone in Archie’s arms; it’s the only time he feels truly safe, loved, understood.

“How did our lives get so fucked up?” Jughead lifts his head, takes a step back, but Archie keeps his arms laced around his narrow waist.

“I don’t know” Archie sighed “but it’s going to get better, it has too, right?”

He really hoped so. At times he wasn’t sure it would, was certain the darkness wouldn’t let up, dawn would never come. Then there would be a shift, a flicker of flames and he’d find hope again, strength and courage coming alive to fight with. His moods were fickle, hope fleeting and tricky to hold onto, but he was trying; they were trying. It was too much to do this alone though; they were too young to handle this, to put themselves together again after having such horrible things done to them. They both needed professional help. Archie was still struggling to accept the truth of what Miss Grundy did to him, and Jughead was struggling to make it from minute to minute.

They would get better, but they would have to work so damn hard to get there. They’d have to set free their stories, relive their traumas and break into a thousand, sharp glistening pieces before they could heal. It would be long, it would be painful, and in truth, Jughead didn’t know if he would be strong enough to reach the finish line. He meant it when he said this could kill him, but he wasn’t going to give into the darkness, to the fear while Bryce was still out there, able to hurt, to break someone else.

He didn’t know if he believed this story would have a happy ending, this wasn’t one of his novels, he didn’t get to choose the ending; he didn’t get to write one damn word. He didn’t want to lie to Archie, to offer him false hope, even though he wanted to reassure him in some small way. He offered his best friend a half-hearted smile and an ugly truth “I’m sure it will get better, but I think it’s going to get worse first.”

Archie hangs his head, sighing in defeat “Couldn’t you have just lied?”

“Lying to you is unfair” he admitted, “and it’s unfair to me.”

Archie looked up, arms tightening around his waist, lips stretching into a gentle smile “Well then, I embrace the suck.”


	5. Invincible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank hellototheviruss from tumblr for making the image of Jughead walking on the football field for me.

_Bring on the fire and bring on the storm_   
_We'll still be here when it's all said and done_   
_Burn down the bridges and tear down the walls_   
_We'll still be standing invincible_   
_Invincible_

**Ruelle - Invincible**

We all want to feel invincible, to believe that nothing in life is ever going to destroy us. When we’re young we think we are untouchable, unbreakable but I know firsthand just how fragile we are. It doesn’t matter what you believe, all it takes is one moment, one cruel act and everything comes crashing down. We’re frail paper-thin creatures that fall apart so beautiful, so easily. It’s what you do when you fall apart that defines you.

Do you drown? Give in to the darkness, let the monster that hurt you win or do you face the fear, slay the beast?

I’m choosing to pick up the pieces, collect my courage and step out onto the battlefield, brave, a hero, invincible once more for a few precious moments.

**XxX**

The sun rises too soon, the night lost to nightmares and anxiety. Morning does not bring peace or comfort, there won’t be a moment of rest until Jughead has Bryce’s confession. Today’s the day he becomes his own hero, today is the day he has to be brave, _so very brave_. Even though he is tired, body vibrating with anxiety he will find the courage to push through, he has to swallow the fear and calm the tremors in his hands. He’s struggling through the motions, choking down breakfast and walking numbly out the door, following in Archie’s footsteps to the bus stop. It’s cold, the sky is a canvas of ominous clouds filled with the promise of rain.

The rain comes down heavy, icy cold against exposed skin, it’s a good thing they listened to Mary and took the bus, even if it means being seated among a crowd of whispering students. He ignores them; soon they’ll know the truth, which means soon the look of judgment will be replaced with pity. He isn’t doing this for pity or attention or because he cares what they think, he is doing this so Bryce can’t hurt anyone else. He is doing this in the desperate hope that it will make the fear lessen, that it might help him find closure so he can try to piece himself together again. He is doing this so Bryce knows people are not playthings, they are breakable and he can’t just have or harm whoever he feels like.

He is doing this to protect a future victim; he is doing this to save _his life_. Hopefully, maybe, who knows if this will be enough? He shakes the thoughts from his mind, this morning he can’t think of anything other than the mission. If thoughts stray, if the darkness rolls in or the fear takes hold he’ll fail and if he fails now, if he falls he might not get back up. Fanning the embers into flames he rises from his seat and walks off, stepping out into the frigid rain. Each step is heavy, heart hammering in his chest as he makes his way through the downpour, up the steps and through the front doors, surveying the hallway for a head of fiery locks.

Archie hesitates at his side, Jughead knew he’d find it difficult to get away so, with some guilt, he convinced Archie to appeal to coach Clayton and ask to be let back on the football team. It had taken some convincing, he didn’t want to be on any team Bryce was part of. Jug persuaded him, using Archie’s desire to study music and get them both the hell out of this town as bargaining tools. In the end Archie gave in, he wasn’t so sure coach Clayton would be so inclined to take him back so Jug told him to use the ‘my friend was raped and I am under a lot of stress’ card. Archie probably wouldn’t, since he looked ill at just the mention of it, and Jughead should really find a healthier way to cope with this but it’s all he had right now.

Archie is walking away and the moment he is alone, Cheryl appears out of the crowd, a cold, merciless smile on her face. At least it’s not directed at him, she links their arms and steers him through the whispering, gaping sea of students. When they reach the Blue and Gold she turns to face him, smile soft, encouraging as she opens for the door for him, this is where they part ways. With a deep breath, trembling bones and fear a living beast inside his chest he opens the door and steps in. The room is empty, any minute now Bryce will be walking through the door and he’ll be face to face with his worst nightmare.

Quivering fingers fumble with his phone, switching it on to record before he tucks it back into his jacket pocket. The recording device he retrieved from the storage closet the other day is cleverly hidden behind the murder board, the phone is a distraction, a failsafe in case Bryce is smart enough to assume they might record him. The door swings open, Jug’s blood turns to ice, heart a war drum pounding in his head and fear a fist squeezing the oxygen from his lungs. He doesn’t know how Cheryl pulled this off, but she did and here they are, alone. Locked in a room with Cheryl waiting at the ready to intervene if the need arises.

She promised fear wouldn’t freeze her this time; she wasn’t going to be useless, she promised, voice venomous and dripping in self-loathing. This time he would be safe, not that it silenced the fear or calmed the nerves, the glint in Bryce’s eyes had left him paralysed. He was relishing in this, in the memory of what he had done. He thrived on Jughead’s fear, on the destruction and chaos he was causing. Anger burnt to life, thawing the ice from his veins, calmness washed over him. Fire and courage filled every nerve, every cell, waking the hero, the ghost of the boy he used to be.

Bravely he stepped forward; Bryce did the same, trying to appear threatening with his shoulders pulled back and chest puffed out. Jughead wasn’t afraid anymore, not in this moment, right now he was going to be brave. With a deep, steady breath he chooses his first words carefully, he has to get Bryce to say the right thing or this will have been for nothing. He channels the aloof nature he used to present to the world, stepping into the sardonic sleuth he’d nearly forgotten. Now was his chance to show Bryce he couldn’t get away with this, money, power, they weren’t going to save him now.

“Why me, Bryce?” he tries to keep his voice steady, to hide the hurt underlining the words but even with the flames burning bright there is a tremor, a hint of pain. “Why did you rape me?”

“This again” he actually laughs, like this is one big joke to him. “You really need to stop this, man, this could ruin my life.”

Something snaps, something breaks and the rage has him rushing towards Bryce, fist swinging before he even realises what is happening. It bloody hurts when his fist collides with Bryce’s cheek, Jughead staggers back with the force of the punch, seething, trembling in violent rage. “This could ruin your life? What about mine, what about my family’s, my friends? You’ve hurt everybody I care about. You have made me afraid, petrified. I couldn’t sleep or eat for a week after what you did to me. I thought about killing myself because you raped me on my best friend’s lawn, so don’t talk to me about ruining your life when it's mine that is ruined.”

The words are sharp and painfully sliding up his throat, they taste like grass and copper on his tongue and sit heavy in the space between them. Bryce does not care about any of it, there is a satisfied glint in his brown eyes, like this is what he wanted. To ruin the loner kid from the wrong side of the tracks, to break him down into a snivelling mess, a shadow of the person he used to be. Courage is fading, flames struggling to keep the ice at bay. It’s killing him to talk, to admit to how broken he feels deep inside, to reveal to Bryce that he has ruined his life, snuffed out all the foolish hope and childish dreams. He is trying to win but it feels like losing.

“Why me?” he roared, fighting to hold tight to the anger, the sparks but fear and misery are closing in.

Something in the air shifts, something in Bryce changes and the next moment Jughead is backed up against a shelf, two strong arms pinning him in place, hot breath ghosting over his lips. The fire is lost, swallowed by blinding panic. He should scream for Cheryl, kick or claw or hit at Bryce but what if this is the moment he finally confesses? He must hold fast, be brave and get him to admit the truth. It’s difficult to stay strong when he feels hands’ roaming over his body, for one agonising heartbeat is under the glittering stars, mouth full of grass and body in a world of pain. The hands find what they are looking for, retrieving the phone from his jacket pocket, switching the device off before tucking it back into Jughead’s coat.

“Now that’s out of the way” Bryce’s voice takes on a devilish tone, strong fingers grip tight to his jaw “do you want to know why I did it?”

He can only nod, words trapped by fear.

“I raped you because I could, because no one cares about you.” He leans in, Jughead closes his eyes, holding his breath as Bryce takes his bottom lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to draw blood, he can’t hold back the whimper. “I always wanted to know what it would feel like to have that kind of power over someone and it was so much fun” he laughed again, an ugly, hollowed out sound. “Raping you was the most fun I ever had and I could do it again. I could fuck you right here” his hands slid down to his narrow hips, moving around to cup his ass painfully “and no one is here to stop me.”

Fear evaporates, lost to an animalistic rage, the world turns red. Time seems to slow down as Jughead shoves Bryce away, kicking and hitting and fighting the way he wished he did the night of his birthday. He can’t see straight, the rage is all consuming, he doesn’t notice Cheryl storm the room or that Bryce had managed to pin to the ground in a mirror image of how he raped him. The anger is swept away as fast it came, he can’t breathe, can’t see through the tears, the blinding panic. There is shouting and the weight is gone, a loud bang startles him back to reality, he scrambles to his feet, legs barely holding his weight.

Bryce is gone, Cheryl is standing before him, telling him to breathe, saying on repeat you’re safe, we’ve got him. He can’t celebrate with her, not when he can still feel Bryce’s hands on him, his teeth sinking into a lip that is still bleeding. He’s hyperventilating, choking on the memories and the fresh reminder of what Bryce’s cruel hands felt like, what his sickly-sweet cologne smells like. The strength is gone; fear takes over, sending him crashing to the ground in a sobbing, trembling heap.

“Cheryl, what is going on?”

Betty’s voice cuts through the swirling thoughts. She rushes towards them, kneeling beside him, eyes widening at the state he is in. “I’m fine” is the weak lie slipping past his bloodied lips. He is a thousand miles in the wrong direction of fine, but he doesn’t want to talk about what just happened. “Cheryl was just about to take me home.”

“Right” she nods, helping him to his feet, he sways where he stands. “Jug had a panic attack, and I’m going to drive him home.”

“I am not falling for that” Betty snapped “did Bryce do this?”

He flinched, and that was all Betty needed to put the pieces together, “Juggie, what happened?”

Jughead didn’t want to speak, he wanted to leave, to climb into a hot shower, scrub his skin raw then crawl into bed and curl up under the covers, forgetting all about this God-awful morning. She wouldn’t back down though, not when he obviously looked terrified, traumatised. He felt flayed open, memories flickering in his mind, hurtling him back to that God forsaken night. This better have been worth the risk, worth the new bruises and pain it’s going to cause. He needs to hold the recorder in his hands, play the tape back and make sure it’s clear, that everyone will be able to hear the kind of monster Bryce is.

“Maybe you should go get, Archie” Cheryl is suggesting. “Jughead’s in shock, so Archie will probably be the best person to calm him down.”

“So, something has happened?” Betty demanded.

“Yes, I was walking by, and I heard noises and when I came in Bryce was attacking him” Cheryl revealed. “He ran off when I came in, that’s all I know. Now Betty, go get Archie.” Her icy tone has Betty obeying, nodding wordlessly, ponytail swinging as she rushes from the room. Cheryl leaves Jug’s side to retrieve the recorder, handing it to him with a small, victorious smile. “We got him.”

Jughead looks down at the recorder that is held in shaking hands, rewinding the tape, pressing play and letting the sound of Bryce’s confession fill the space between them. Switching it off, he pockets the device and lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah we did” he is barely holding it together, he needs to get out of here, to go somewhere he feels safe, where he can sit and process what just transpired. “Do you think you could take me home? I’ve had enough of being stupidly brave today.”

Cheryl smiled tenderly, wiping the blood from his chin with a red-tipped nail. “Yeah, I can do that. We should make a backup of the confession. I already have everything organised for tomorrow night. I just gotta get a copy of the confession to Dilton Doiley then we can truly ruin Bryce’s life.”

“I wish retribution tasted sweeter” he murmured, lashing fluttering to chase away the tears.

“You’re going to be okay.”

She sounded so sure, so certain and Jughead wished he could believe her, but right now he wasn’t sure. He’d gotten the confession, and he knew there would be a price to pay, that it could be dangerous but right now with fear leaving him cold and numb he doesn’t know if it was worth it. Maybe once the shock wears off, once the ice thaws from his veins he will feel different. The bruises will be reminders of his bravery, not echoes of the night he was raped. He isn’t sure if Bryce would have followed through with his threat, if he just narrowly avoided being raped again. This was their high school for fuck's sake; surely he wouldn’t have been so insane to actually go through with it.

The tears have come back with a vengeance, fear overwhelming him, making his legs tremble and threaten once more to give out under him. Sensing the storm, Cheryl wraps a slim arm around his waist and helps him leave this room and what could have happened behind.

***

It takes an hour for the storm to calm, for the fear to ebb and the trembling to subside. The morning is long, Archie is angry with him for putting himself in danger, he is furious that Bryce hurt him, that Jughead didn’t allow him to be there to stop him. Archie doesn’t stay mad for long, it’s impossible to be angry when Jughead is falling apart right before his eyes. Cheryl drives them home; Jug doesn’t speak for the whole drive, just clutches the recorder to his chest. Doing everything in his power not to think about the hands touching him, invading him, taking him apart so violently.

Memories twine with the events of this morning; images swirl and twirl in his mind until he can’t think straight _, can’t breathe_. The world is lost to the chaos inside his head, to the warped memories that combine the night with day and he is getting the confession under a moonlit sky and being raped in a classroom. He is inconsolable, crumbling to ash in the passenger seat of Cheryl’s car. Darkness rushes in to greet him, to lure him in with a sweet song to a faraway land, a place of safety, a kingdom of nothingness. He doesn’t want to get trapped in the nothingness, to be lost in the wonderland inside his head, but it’s so God damn hard to make it back to the surface.

He doesn’t want to feel Bryce’s touch, smell his cologne, feel the sharp sting of teeth or the memory of violent thrusts. He wants to hold onto something sweet, a glittering memory of lost summer days riding around Riverdale under the beating sun, the taste of freedom on his tongues. Reaching back to the past he takes hold of the night's spent star gazing cuddled up beside Archie in their sleeping bags, the lights of his family home shining in the distance. He knew he was safe then, darkness had not found its way into their lives and the only monsters to be found in the night were the imaginary kind. Safe, they had been safe and innocent once.

Now his body had been tainted by violent hands, his virginity stolen by a monster and hope, _happiness_ ripped away. Chaos had snuck into his life, had torn down the walls, kicking them to dust before lighting a match and watching it all burn. Jughead was left standing in the rubble, ash on his tongue and smoke filling his lungs, his head, his world _. His life_ had been destroyed, but there was still one good thing left. Standing tall among the fire and smoke, the rubble and ruin was his best friend, hand outstretched and calling him home. Peace, happiness, better days might be far off or never seen again, but Archie still remained, Archie would always remain.

As terrifying as the memories were, as sickly as the phantom touches felt, as fucking awful as this nightmares continued to be, Jughead wasn’t going to drown, to stay in the dark. Not when the reason to fight had been standing by his side from the very start. Fighting the darkness, _the nothingness_ , he follows the voices home, opening his eyes, at last, to find two very concerned faces hovering nearby. He exhales the fear, the blinding panic. Sagging back against the couch, only now realising he had been taken inside and Vegas is sitting beside him, head pillowed on his lap.

Archie and Cheryl slump, now no more than marionettes with broken, frayed strings to pull. It’s almost silent, apart from the gentle pit-pat of rain and a steady tick of the clock, time had lost all meaning for a while there. There is so much that needs to be said, they haven’t played the confession for Archie or told him about tomorrow night’s plan. He has told Archie that he is sorry for not telling him, he wanted to, but he couldn’t risk being talked out of it. Now the storm clouds have parted he can start to feel the relief, the swell of pride at getting the confession, at being his own damn hero, even if it meant a few bruises and a day of panic attacks.

Victory was in the air. Tomorrow night Bryce would know exactly what it felt like to have his world burn down. Bryce raped him because he thought he’d get away with it, that no one would care, but he was wrong, Archie cared, Cheryl cared, and so did so many others. He wasn’t some toy to be used, to throw away and be forgotten, he wasn’t Bryce’s to have and to break. Come tomorrow night he would learn exactly what it felt like to be hated, to be ridiculed, to have a _name_ that would follow him to the end of his life.

Jughead would forever wear the title of victim but Bryce would wear the ugly one of rapist and this entire town would know come Saturday morning. Retribution was starting to taste sweet, was starting to chase away the darkness. Finding strength once more, if only for a few moments or hours, he turned his attention towards Archie. It was time for him to know the complete truth of what transpired this morning, even if the words felt like glass in his mouth.

Archie listened silently as Jughead retold him how he got Bryce’s confession, when he mentioned the violence that had occurred Archie moved to sit beside him, wrapping a strong arm around his narrow shoulders as he began to tremble. When the story was told, leaving Jug feeling exhausted, a little numb, he played the tape. It stole all sound from the world, left them suspended in the heart of darkness. When it was over Archie didn’t speak, a thousand emotions played across face, flickered in his eyes. Cheryl, who had recorded the confession on her phone, excused herself, promising to text later with the final details.

When it was just the two of them, noise slowly trickling back in, Archie turned to Jughead and said, voice steady, words certain. “You are not ruined Juggie.”

“Sometimes I feel like I am” he admitted, avoiding Archie’s eyes in favour of staring at the holes in his jeans “I feel… tainted by what Bryce did to me.”

“You’re not Juggie.” Archie insisted “you are still you.”

“Am I?” He looked up, trying to find the truth of Archie’s words written in the air between them. “Ever since I was raped I feel like I have lost so much of myself. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I haven’t worked on my novel or spent hours at Pops. I am tired and scared all of the time.”

“Juggie” Archie took Jug’s hands into his own. “You need to be patient Jug, to find your way back to Pop’s, your novel and the other stuff. I bet in no time you will be wolfing down burgers and shakes and back writing your novel. I know this because I know you, Jughead. You don’t see how brave you’ve been, how strong you can be. Take a look at today, I know you're shaken by what happened but you managed to get Bryce to confess. You were your own hero Jughead, and I am so proud of you. You think you’re ruined, but you’re not, never could be… not to me at least.” Archie drops his gaze, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “I just want, _need_ you to know that I love you and I don’t care that Bryce raped you, I mean,” he shook his head, furrowed scrunching in frustrations “obviously I do, shit that came out wrong-”

Archie’s words are silenced by Jughead pressing a quick, whisper of a kiss to his lips, chasing something sweet, riding the high of the stupid bravery that is still burning in his bloodstream. He pulls back to stare at his best friend, watching as Archie’s finger ghost over his bottom lip. He doesn’t know why he did that, he wanted Archie to know that he understood what he was saying, to thank him for believing in him, for loving him but instead of words, his heart chose a kiss to express all that he couldn’t say. Now they are staring at each other, suspended in silence, lips warm and tingling from the briefest of kisses.

Archie makes the first move; he cups Jughead’s face between the palms of his hands and closes the space between them. The kiss is tender, a promise, a declaration of love. Jughead kisses back, savouring the words Archie has never spoken on his tongue, drinking in the hidden feelings now brought into the light. It’s been a fucked-up day, hell it’s been a fucked-up couple of months and kissing Archie isn’t going to magically fix anything, but it’s a little bit of sweetness to cherish, to chase away the darkness. There is a lot they need to talk about, there is still so much trauma and pain ahead of them, but for this one shining moment, they can pretend they are just two kids who finally realised what they mean to each other.

**XxX**

Kissing Jughead isn’t like kissing Miss Grundy or Valerie or Cheryl or Veronica. It doesn’t feel wrong, or like a curious desire sparked by the intimacy of a dark closet, it feels perfect. It feels like love songs and bright summer days mixed with home and safety. Kissing Jughead feels like coming home, like finding a corner of the universe he never knew he needed to have and to hold until now. All this time, it was Jughead he’d been seeking, not some thrilling affair with a teacher or a hook up with the new mysterious girl. Right before his very eyes, for all these years, was the person he was truly meant to be with.

In all this chaos they have found peace, they have found each other.

And it tastes so sweet, it makes him want to write a thousand love songs, a thousand more. He wants this moment to stretch on forever, for the darkness to stay at bay, let them be kids, let them young, in love and free. There is copper on his tongue, and Jughead is pulling back, eyes clouding in distress, moment lost. The cut on his lip has reopened, crimson droplets trickling down his chin; Archie feels rage chase away the sweetness. Repressing it for later, he takes Jug’s hand and leads him upstairs to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

“This might sting” Archie warned, dabbing at the wound with some antiseptic, flinching as Jughead winced. “Sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt” he shrugged.

“I meant are you okay with what happened this morning” Archie pressed “and with us kissing.”

“I’m not okay with what happened this morning” he replied, words heavy, lashing fluttering to chase away the tears, “but I am okay with the kissing.” His lips quirking into a smile have the wound reopening, Archie grabbed another tissue to stem the bleeding. “Can we not tell my dad about this? If he knew Bryce attacked me he’d go off the rails and as much as I would like for Bryce to have that smug smirk knocked off his face, I need my dad to not be in jail.”

“Yeah, good call.”

They fall into silence, Archie holding the Kleenex against Jug’s bottom lip while chewing on the questions he was scared to speak, but in the end, his need to know outweighs the fear. Opening his mouth, he asks “What actually happened? I know you said Bryce attacked you but…”

He trailed, looking unsure of how to ask what he wanted to know. He needed to know if Bryce did anything sexual to Jug, he knows the answer is probably no, _is hopefully no_ , but this is a new and terrifying world. Bryce had already raped Jug, proving he was more than capable of doing wicked acts and worse, he enjoyed it, relished in hurting someone so intimately. The recording had freaked Archie out as well. It sounded like he was threatening to rape Jughead again and though it could have been just talk, Archie needed to know that Juggie wasn’t violated, even in the smallest way.

“I think he was bluffing” Jughead is saying, voice straining. “I don’t actually think he was going to do anything… but he” he closes his eyes, hiding the tears but they fall just the same. “He bit my lip and grabbed my arse.”

“Juggie” Archie doesn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to make up for getting sexually assaulted by the guy who raped him. God, Bryce was truly a monster. Tomorrow night couldn’t come soon enough, this town needed to see the truth. “After tomorrow he won’t hurt you ever again. You won’t have to see his stupid smirk or smell his cologne. I wish this didn’t happen; I wish none of this happened to you, but it’s nearly over.”

“Arch, this isn’t nearly over.” Jughead stepped around him, walking out of the bathroom and back towards their shared room where he collapsed onto the air mattress with a weary sigh. “Tomorrow night is just the end of one chapter. I still have to deal with the fact I was raped, that isn’t ever going to go away. I will always be a victim, I’m going to be a freaking mess until I learn how to cope with my PTSD and panic attacks and not to mention my family is still broken, my dad is still a Serpent and has a drinking problem. I don’t have very solid ground to stand on.”

Archie moves from where he stayed lingering in the doorway, grabbing the blanket off the bed and wrapping it tightly around Jughead before sitting down in front of him. “You have me to lean on” he vowed. “And I’m sorry, I know this isn’t nearly over, that you, _we_ have a lot of trauma to work through, but we’ve got some good stuff to look forward to.”

The sadness lifted from Jughead’s eyes, a brittle smile graced his face as he said “our road trip.”

“Milkshakes at Pops.”

“Midnight snake runs.”

“The dance.”

“The dance?” he asked quizzically, “oh prom. Wait,” he raised one eyebrow “are you asking me to prom Archie Andrews?”

“Would you go with me, Jughead Jones?” he ducked his head to hide the blush creeping up his neck. It might be too soon to ask such favours of Jug and if he said no, Archie wouldn’t be hurt. He’d completely understand, but it would be nice to share this with him. Something normal, a rite of passage that every teen should get to experience and with all the darkness, the chaos, it would be nice to have a night where they could forget it all and celebrate with their friends.

“Maybe” he reached out to run nimble fingers through Archie’s unruly red locks. “Ask me again next month, okay?”

“Deal,” he said, taking Jughead’s hand into his own and pressing a kiss to each knuckle. “So, ah, we should also talk about what we are.”

“We don’t need labels, Archie” he muttered. “Can’t we just be us?”

“Of course,” Archie would like to press the matter, say all that he has longed to say, talk for hours about what they are and what they could be but this morning has been hell for Jug. There will be plenty of time to talk once Jug is in a better headspace. “We’ll always be us, only now we can kiss, right?”

Jughead laughed, it sounded like the sweetest melody to Archie’s ears; he feared he’d never hear it again, would never see the glint of happiness or curiosity in those blue eyes or find a dazzling smile playing across his face. In time, he would. In time Jug would heal. He would smile and laugh, and Archie would find eyes bright with happiness and curiosity staring at him from across a table at Pops. Jughead says with a flash of teeth ‘yes, Archie we can kiss’, and that’s all he needs. It’s confirmation that they are more. It’s a promise they will be more, but first, there is an ocean of heartache and trauma to cross, but on the horizon, is a beautiful future.

**XxX**

Jughead is dozing lightly against Archie when he is woken by the alarm going off, groaning he shoves at Archie, who shuts the stupid thing off. Early morning sun spills in through the window, its Friday, tonight is the night Jughead shows this town who Bryce Danvers really is, and he is terrified. All night he tossed and turned, nightmares chasing him from sleep, waking him with a pounding heart and a scream clawing its way up his throat. His dreams had been nonsense, a maddening, disquieting world of night skies and classrooms and violence came to life around him, leaving him unsettled, _haunted_.

The alarm is sounding again; this time Archie untangles himself from Jug’s arms and crawling out from under the covers to face another day. Jughead isn’t sure he can make it through today; he is exhausted, anxious from the nightmares, for tonight. Everything is in order, the game starts at seven, at halftime Riverdale will know the truth; they will know Bryce is a monster and Jughead his victim. They will know that he was raped, that he wasn’t strong enough to protect himself. Some might pity him, some will still put blame on him, either way, they will know. The spotlight will be on him, a hundred eyes, strangers and friends, watching, judging.

He doesn’t like attention, never wanted to be part of the in crowd. He liked the shadows, preferred to keep his head down and headphones on. Drifting through the halls unnoticed, lurking in the background and watching the chaos unfold around him. Always the outsider, the observer was what he knew best. That would change tonight; this town would know what happened to Jughead Jones on his bittersweet sixteenth. He doesn’t like that his name will be on everyone’s tongues, he’s hated having people whisper and gossip about him, but this is another price to pay for justice.

First the bruises, the split lip now this, another reminder for him that he is broken. That one of the worst things happened to him, nearly happened to him again and he was still too weak to stop it. He wants to be strong, to feel powerful, for the fear inside his chest to unlace from his lungs and thaw from his veins. There has to be a day where he feels okay, where his thoughts aren’t jumbled swirling disasters leading him down dark paths, _to the edge_. One day happiness has to seep in with the morning sun, curiosity and courage blowing in on a warm spring breeze and the fear, the anxiety will be nowhere to be found.

Please, let there be nights without nightmares, without waking to blood-curdling screams and sobs climbing up a sandpaper throat. He has been brave, faced Bryce and today, _tonight_ is the last time he has to muster all his strength. After that he can break, he can fall apart completely, he can surrender to the pain, the sorrow. Once every glistening jagged piece is strewn across the floor he will take a deep breath and start rebuilding. Over the past two weeks, he has stuck the broken pieces together with glue and tape, covering the wounds, in that time they have festered; they have splintered and yesterday ripped open anew.

Bryce’s violent touch had found him in the dark, memories of the night he was raped mixing with yesterday’s assault, twisting and turning into a sickening horror show. No wonder he woke screaming, waking the house in the dead of night. It took an age for him to calm down, he’d gone downstairs with Mary, and she made him a glass of hot milk with cinnamon. They didn’t talk, but it was nice having her there. When he eventually crawled back into bed, into Archie’s arms, he drifted on and off until the alarm pulled him from the blissful limbo.

“Are you okay, Juggie?” Archie asked from where he is standing in the doorway, now dressed for school and a bowl of cereal in hand. “You’ve been staring into space for the past fifteen minutes.”

“I’m just tired” he sighed. “I think I might skip school today.”

“I can stay home with you?” he ventured closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We can watch Brooklyn 99, and I’ll get us doughnuts from Pops?”

“Thanks Arch, that’s sweet, but you’ve missed enough school because of me” he replied, reaching out to lace their fingers together. “I think I’d just like to sleep so I can be in a better headspace for tonight.”

“I believe in you, Jug.”

Jug sat up, scooting over, leaning in to kiss Archie, a sweet, brief, silent thank you. “I wish I didn’t feel so afraid.”

“It’s okay to be scared” Archie reassured. “I will be right there, though, so you will be safe. I know you are strong enough to do this, to survive what comes after tonight. I love you, and I will never stop believing in you _, in us_.”

“I love you too, Archie and I do believe in us, I want to be your” he paused, chewing on the word before deciding fuck it, he wanted to be Archie Andrew’s boyfriend. He wanted to explore all that they could be, even if it took a lot of time and work to get there. “I want to be your boyfriend, and yes I just said the B word, but I hope you’re okay with me being a fucking mess for a while.”

Archie smiled, closing the distance between them, lips hovering inches from Jug’s “Your mess is mine.”

When their lips met for a heartbeat of a moment everything was okay. The world fades away, nothing but warm light to surround them, to protect them from the dark and the monsters that hide within it. A few precious moments, a flutter of a moth’s wings and it was over, a dark presence and piercing eyes slashing the bliss to dust, to ash. Jughead opened his eyes to find his father lingering in the doorway.

“Dad, um, how long have you been standing there?” Jughead sprung back from Archie like he’d been burnt, Archie looked petrified.

“Long enough” he strolled into the room, Archie jumped to his feet and blurted out something about having honourable attentions towards Jughead like he was some Disney princess. “That’s cute, Red, but shouldn’t you be getting to school?”

“Right” he fumbled to grab his jacket and bag while holding the empty bowl with his other hand. “I’ll see you later, Jug” he practically flew past FP, nearly tripping in his haste.

When he was gone, the room filled with silence, Jughead studied his father’s expression, finding it impossible to read. “I’ve been raped therefore you cannot yell at me” is out of his mouth before he can catch the words, it only adds to the tension in the room. “Sorry,” he dropped his gaze; anxious fingers toying with the covers.

“How long, Jughead?” he asked, floorboards creaking under booted feet as he moved closer.

“We literally only kissed yesterday” he replied, withdrawing into himself “I’ve had feelings for a while though.”

“I’m not really surprised that this day has come.” He admitted, sitting down where Archie had just been, “and I’m not angry, just concerned. After what’s happened, are you sure this is the right time to start something with Archie?”

Jughead lifted his gaze, determination settling in his bloodstream. “I’m not sure of much anymore, but I am sure of this. I know I’m not okay right now, that I need help, but out of all this chaos and misery Archie is the one thing that brings me peace. A little bit of happiness. The timing probably couldn’t be worse, but I need one good thing in my life right now, and Archie is that for me.”

“Okay, I understand, Jughead” FP said, words chosen carefully “I just want you to be careful.”

“Archie won’t hurt me, dad,” he declared, a little defensively.

“You can’t be certain of that” he reasoned “he’s hurt you before.”

“Everyone hurts someone else at one point or another, that’s life” he retorted. “Can’t you just let me have this one thing?”

“I am not standing in your way, Jughead,” He was growing frustrated, it could be seen in the tension in his shoulders and the press of his lips. “Look, let’s just table this for later. I came to see if you wanted to have breakfast at Pops if you’re up to it?”

FP was trying, he was, and Jug kept pushing, kept adding bricks to the wall between them. He didn’t want that, not after everything he’d been through. He wanted to find comfort in his father’s arms, to be able to talk to him about Archie and tell him about what Bryce did to him and how it made him feel. He had to try to, he was the only person who could tear down the walls, and this was a start, a chance to work on their relationship. So even though he is tired and would love nothing more than to go back to sleep, he agrees to go to breakfast. It’s probably for the best, there is a chance that sleep would only equal more nightmares and if he stayed alone too long he could be swept away by troubled thoughts.

He can’t lose his head, he as to be brave a little while longer yet.

***

Fifteen minutes later he is sliding into the familiar red vinyl booth, comforting neon lights bright above him. It feels safe in the morning glow, the smell of coffee and pancakes wrap around him like a security blanket, it doesn’t feel cold or too bright like it did the other day. It would be nice to stay snug in this moment, the way he and Archie had done the other afternoon before he revealed that he’d thought about killing himself, shattering the serenity they desperately clung too. Again the darkness would shatter the neon lights, the lazy morning flow, it was always there, waiting, ready to take control, devour the light and deliver misery.

He will avoid it for as long as he can, asking his dad about work, about his mum and Jellybean but all roads lead back to him, to what they are going to do with him now he is broken. Tonight, won’t magically make the nightmares stop; it won’t take away the fear or the coldness that hasn’t left his bones since the night he was raped. Justice won’t fix any of that, won’t end the panic attacks or the anxiety. It’s a step in the right direction, though, it won’t stop the darkness from threatening to swallow him whole, from pushing him to the edge.

He can hold on for today, but he is struggling, is skirting around a panic attack, vibrating with anxiety and trembling with every breath. He has to hold fast, be brave, tonight is an ending; tomorrow is a new chapter. The long, winding road to recovery is shimmering in the distance. He struggles to eat, FP watches him closely, he doesn’t make Jug talk, simply tells him that Gladys has made him an appointment with a therapist tomorrow and they’ll be discussing the best treatment plan for him.

He nods, chokes down a mouthful of food and washes it down with cold coffee. His mum wants to lock him up, to give him to someone else to deal with so she doesn’t have to come back and fix what’s broken. It is probably for the best, his parents are the reason he was damaged in the first place, they would only harm him more if they tried to mend him now. Still, he feels hurt, a little betrayed, a little like a broken teacup that has been shoved into a cupboard, hidden from view. He wished his mum was here, that his family was happy and whole and no longer screwed up. This was how it had always been and no matter how much he hoped or wished it would never change.

Maybe help from an outsider wouldn’t be the worst thing, they had knowledge and training behind them. He wanted to be better, to have more than this messed up life, so he’d do whatever he needed to find brighter days.

**XxX**

Archie is cornered by Betty before first bell. He’d just finished talking to Cheryl, reassuring her that Jug would be at the game tonight when she appeared out of the crowd and demanded they talk. They are now at the Blue and Gold, Betty has her back to him; she’s facing the white board that only a few days ago Jughead had written on. The writing is gone now, it’s a clean slate, a fresh start but every time Archie looks at it he finds ‘who raped me’ staring back at him even though the letters are long gone. He imagines Betty sees the same, that they will always see it.

She turns around, wide blue eyes glistening with tears, teeth digging sharply into her bottom lip, smudging the lipstick that she’s only started wearing since dating Veronica. Archie pulls her into his arms, a silent apology for not being there for her lately, for blowing her off last night when she asked what had gone down yesterday. He’d promised that he would explain everything to her today. He had to focus on Jughead yesterday, he was shaken, traumatised after Bryce attacked him and Archie did his best to look after him.

He figured distraction would be the best since Jughead didn’t seem like talking or reliving the trauma any more than he already had. They spent the day re-watching Brooklyn 99 and catching up on homework. It was a nice reprieve from the darkness, though Archie could sense it lingering. It was in the space between their heartbeats, in the moments of silence, creeping in through the cracks in the floorboards and blowing in with the autumn breeze. It was a third presence in the room, a dark shadow looming, ready and eager to take their peace away.

When night came Jughead grew distressed. He barely ate anything at dinner, and he spent an eternity in the shower, when he emerged his face was flushed red, bottom lip leaking crimson droplets onto a pale chin. Archie wanted to storm out of the house, march all the way to Bryce’s and punch him in the face. No he wanted to do worse, much worse. Jughead wiped the blood away on the sleeve of the hood that swamped his small frame, silently standing in the doorway, staring off into the distance.

Archie wanted to push, to get him to open up but he looked so tired, so lost that he figured the best thing he could do is settle Jughead into bed, climb in next to him and hope his silent company and warm embrace were enough. He was so worried for Jughead; his moods were fickle, tricky to grasp hold of, to understand. He was flittering between his usual sardonic self, a broken, anxiety stricken mess and a silent, sorrowful lost boy who looked ready to end it all. These moods came in waves, sometimes lasting hours or only a few minutes. It was getting harder and harder to find the real Jughead.

Yesterday when Jughead kissed him he’d been so happy, for one precious moment he was foolish enough to believe everything was going to be okay. That they would be okay, that his love and support was enough to save Jug, but as pure and sweet as it was, it wouldn’t be enough. That was obvious by the nightmares, by the sadness in Jug’s eyes, the sorrow heavy in the air around him. He could kiss Jughead and maybe for a few seconds time would stand still and they would be happy, they would feel invincible, but the clock would start up again and the illusion shattering with it.

It hurts _; it hurts like hell_ to admit this but he wasn’t going to be able to fix his best friend. Jughead needed help, more than he or Betty or FP could give him. Archie would never stop trying to make Jughead happy though, he’d never give up on them, on the future they could have. Jug was strong, he was the bravest person he’d ever meant, and tonight he would get a chance to be a hero, to make sure this town knew the truth. He just had to get Jug through today. Tomorrow he has to step aside, he has to let someone qualified step in and help Jughead.

For now, he owes Betty some answers. He is going to let her in on Jughead’s plan, he thinks it would be a good idea for her and Veronica to be there for support. When he finishes telling her everything, she slumps into a chair. Archie sits next to her, waiting for her to talk; she is upset, angry at being left out, which is understandable. He was furious, but in the end, it was something Jug had to do on his own, and they would have tried to talk him out of it.

“So Jughead has a recorded confession of Bryce admitting to raping him” Betty echoed his words, eyes swirling with a storm of emotions, “and he is planning on playing it for half the town to hear at the game tonight?”

“Yep,” Archie confirmed. “Everyone is going to know who Bryce really is.”

“How did this happen?” She asked, a single tear trailing down her cheek. “We threw a party, and our best friend was raped. This was never meant to happen to us! We should be hanging out at Pops and going on picnics to Sweetwater River, what happened, Archie? What happened to this town, to the people in it?”

“I don’t have the answers, Betty” he took her hand into his own, smoothing his fingers over her palm, tracing the crescent scars. “I think… I think when this over we should talk to someone, someone professional, to help us come to terms with what happened to Jughead.” _To what happened to me_ floats into his mind, he shakes the thought away, swallowing the bitterness it leaves in his mouth. It was different; he didn’t get to make this about himself. I _t was different_ , only the more he thought about it, the more uncertain he became.

“That’s a good idea, Archie.” Betty tries to smile only for it to be lost in a flood of tears, a heartbreaking sob.

Archie clears the darkness from his mind and takes Betty into his arms, once more being the shoulder to cry on, once more hiding the truth and pain that come with it.

**XxX**

Jughead follows his dad up the creaky cinderblock steps to the trailer. After they finished at Pops, FP asked if he’d like to spend the rest of the day with him and feeling anxiety charging through his veins, the icy fingers of a panic skittering over his skin he decided it would best not to be alone today. He is still feeling uneasy as he steps inside, Pops had been buzzing with chatter, neon lights growing hot and blinding as fear stirred awake inside his bones and he knew if he didn’t get up, get outside then he would start to spiral. He rushed outside while his father paid, gasping in deep, shaky breaths while sending a text to Archie with trembling fingers.

He just wanted to hear from him, to have something to hold onto, to look at over and over while this long day played out. An agonising moment later a text came in, salvation in hand, he cradled the phone to his chest once he’d read the message. Archie promised he’d be okay, told him to breathe and think about their road trip, _their future_. He did just that, imagining an open highway stretching out before them, music playing loudly as they cruised along, wind in their hair, laughter in the air and smiles as bright as the sun. It’s a cute fantasy, a whimsical wish for a far-off future he isn’t sure he’ll have.

The darkness is cruel; hope is tricky and feeble, happiness a shimmering mirage in the far off distance. The moment of contentment is over, scattered on the wind with the autumn leaves, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He has never been that carefree in his life, there has always been a sadness inside his soul, sharp, jagged edges keeping people at bay. He was born with tragedy in his blood. God it’s no wonder this happened to him because these kinds of things happen to the lonely, the misfits. They vanish in the night or disappear in cars or trains heading towards imaginary bright futures they never find.

His dark mood doesn’t dissipate as he walks inside the old, rusty trailer, it doesn’t lighten when he finds the living room clean for once, no bottles or takeaway wrappers in sight. He should be happy that his dad tidied up the place, that he seems sober for the first time in so long. He should smile and say something nice, should try to take a brick from the towering wall. He should, but the tidy trailer, his dad being sober, paying attention to him only make him sad. The truth is it took getting raped for his father to notice him, for him to quit drinking, to try and be a better person when he should have been trying all along.

“You cleaned,” he murmured, he had to say something, the silence was deafening.

“Yeah, last night” he replied, lips quirking into a proud smile “I’m getting my act together like I promised.”

“Okay” is all he offers, stepping further into the room, trying to stop the unkind words from climbing up his throat.

“I thought you would be happy.”                                                                               

He sighed, spinning around in a lazy circle to face his dad, sharp, dangerous words teetering on the tip of his tongue. “If I’d known getting raped would have made you clean up your act I would have done it sooner.”

“That is not funny, Jughead” FP stepped towards him, eyes clouding with distress, with helplessness. “And you know that’s not the only reason.”

“But it is a reason?” he demanded, hands balling into fists, nails biting into soft flesh as anger and hurt tear through his heart.

“Of course it’s a reason, Jughead, when you were hurt-”

“-I wasn’t hurt!” he shouted, words of fury silencing his father. “It wasn’t something that happened or an attack, I was raped, I was fucking raped, and you can’t even say it, can you?” He can’t take this, it’s too much, his heads a mess, body is vibrating with anxiety; he needs to get out of here. He is heading towards the door, not caring that it’s a long walk back to Archie’s that his legs are quivering and probably won’t carry him that far. He wants out, his hand is on the handle, but FP is holding the door closed, caging him in. “Let me go!” He exclaims, trembling, fighting back a scream, a storm.

“No, not like this” FP moves to grab him, to try and offer some form of comfort but Jughead pulls away, storm bursting to life in his dark eyes. “Look, I’m sorry that I upset you, but you need to calm down. You can’t keep acting like this, it’s not helping you.”

“Acting like what?” he snarled, quivering in rage, dancing on the edge of madness.

“Manic!”

Jughead flinches at his father’s words, taking several steps back, swallowing back sobs and blinking away tears threatening to fall. There is still no escape, his dad is blocking the only exit, and he won’t let him pass. He can’t stand here any longer, spinning around just in time to hide the tears he rushes towards the bedroom. Carried by unsteady legs, the world swaying dangerously around him. Slamming the door shut, he slips to the floor, repressed sobs finally breaking free. He can’t stop crying, can’t stop breaking. He wished he didn’t act like this, that he could control the darkness and the anger that made him say hurtful things. He is sorry, he is so sorry that he is like this, that he let Bryce do this to him.

He is so tired, so lost, reality is slipping from his fingers, fatigue crashing in and he can’t stay afloat a moment longer. He curls up where he fell, a broken doll left to collect dust, to rust and crumble with the passing of time. He cries himself to sleep, hope a smouldering pit of ash in his chest, bravery lost, strength escaping in ugly, ragged sobs.

***

Jughead wakes with a start, a scream shredding his throat as it rises and bursts into the quiet air like a banshee’s wail. Frantic eyes snap open, arms lash out at the weight holding him down. Panic blinds him, leaves him paralysed and fighting off a monster that is not there. He struggles against the darkness, the fog in his mind, ever so slowly reality shifts into focus, his dad's face appearing before him. He lets out a shaky breath, scrubbing away the tears and the memories of the horror show he’d just escaped. When the last wispy tendril untangles from his mind this morning’s events slowly seep back in, breakfast at Pops, a God-awful fight with his dad, breaking down and falling asleep on the floor.

He isn’t on the ground anymore; he has been tucked into bed, the springs squeak and shift under his weight, and his beanie is sitting on the nightstand. It feels like he’s been lost in the hellish dream for centuries, fighting off Bryce, running, running, running from him only to always end up pinned to the ground under a velvet night sky. His skin feels bruised, echoes of Bryce’s violent touch whisper against his flesh, there is hot breath against the nape of his neck and pain like nothing he’s never felt before between his legs. He breathes out, the sensations dissipating. It’s just memories, the bruises have faded, the pain is gone, it’s only an illusion.

But not all the bruises are in his mind, there are faint yellow on his ass, left behind by Bryce’s cruel grip. He’s didn’t tell Archie about them and they are nothing compared to the dark purple and blue bruises that took a week to heal. They are nothing, and yet they are everything. They are a sharp reminder that Bryce has used and abused him, relished in the pain he inflicted, in the grief he has caused. Yesterday opened wounds that hadn’t even begun to heal, it had newly twisted nightmares keeping him from sleep, it had food tasting like ash, feeling like glass as he choked it down.

It has made everything worse, and he wants nothing more than to cry his heart out, to give in to the sorrow in these bones but he can’t. He needs to be strong, be brave for tonight. He wished Archie was here. He’d say the right thing or just look at him with those beautiful amber brown eyes, and it would be enough for a spark, for a wisp of courage. He isn’t alone right now, though; his dad is here, is trying even though Jug keeps saying cruel things and pushing him away, adding bricks to the wall.

He needs to borrow some strength right now, find the fighter within. His dad is the toughest person he knows and if anyone can lend him some courage it would be him. But where does he start? He should apologise, he regrets their fight, regrets that he was so cold and uncaring. Despite their troubled history, he knows his dad loves him and this is hurting him, and he is doing his best to help him through it while dealing with his own issues. FP is sober, he is here, and he is trying so damn hard, and it's time Jughead starts trying too. Even if it hurts, even if he can barely find the words to speak.

Only he doesn’t get the chance, his father opens his mouth first and says, “I haven’t been able to say it since I told your mother” he looks down at his hands, toying with the ring on his middle finger. “She burst into tears and told me I was supposed to be protecting you, that I was too busy drinking and drowning in my own problems to pay attention to you and she was right.” He looked up, dark lashes fluttering in a vain attempt to hide the tears. “I should have been there. If I was then you wouldn’t have been” a dozen emotions flicker in his eyes, the air is charged with the word not yet spoken, he clears throat and tries again “then you wouldn’t have been raped.” A single tear trails a path down his face; he quickly brushes it away, scrubbing a hand through his stubble.

“It’s not your fault, dad” Jughead reassured, sitting up so he could pull his dad in for a hug.

“I keep thinking about how afraid you must have been, how much pain you would have been in, and it's killing me.” He holds Jug tight, burying his face in his messy raven locks. “I want to make this right, but I don’t know how” he pulls back, cupping Jug’s face between his warm, calloused palms.

“I don’t know how either” he sniffled, “I think you and mum are right, I need to get help…” he looked away, meeting his tear streaked reflection in the mirror. The face staring back was unrecognisable, eyes haunted and dull, skin ashen, cheeks sunken and hollow. “I need to be somewhere I can get help.” He finally looks at FP, hating the look of fear, of heartache shimmering in his eyes “I want to get better, to not be afraid all of the damn time and the best thing for me, for everyone, is for me to go to into care.”

“I hate that I can’t fix this” FP’s hands move down to rest on his son’s narrow shoulders. “I hate that this is even an option, but you need to make whatever choice you feel is best for you. So, if you are sure about this, I’ll support your decision.”

“I am” he replied firmly. “I know you’d try, that you’d do your best, that Archie is doing everything that he can to help me, but this is bigger than us. It’s too much, and I am struggling to stay afloat, and as soon as I stop having tonight to focus on… well I’m scared of what might happen.” Shit, he didn’t mean to say that, he is so tired, mind a jumbled mess and the words slipped out on their own accord. His father is studying him closely, eyes tracing over the cut on his lip. He sees the light flare in his dad’s eyes, sees the exact moment he realises Jughead is up to something.

“Jughead” his name is loaded, heavy with unasked questions.

He could lie, could brush it off but he has started taking down the bricks, and he still needs some courage, a spark to get him through the night. So he tells FP about the confession, that Bryce assaulted him, that for a few terrifying moments he thought he was going to be raped again. He explains how he and Cheryl have organised to play the confession at the game tonight, that he wants to be there to see Bryce’s face when his world comes crashing down.

FP is furious, shaking with rage but it’s not directed at Jug. He is proud that he found a way to get justice, to ruin Bryce and the Danvers family name. He is outraged that Bryce attacked him again; that he raped him because he wanted to, _because he could_. FP has to get up, pace the limited space of the room while he cools down. Jughead watches silently, trying to push aside the grief and sorrow and find an ember to fan into a spark, into a flame. He needs to do this alone, he wants to walk out onto the field and stand tall and strong, look Bryce in the eye and watch him realise it’s over, he’s lost everything in one terrifying moment. But he wants his dad there, to be a silent supporter in the shadows.

“Will you come with me?” Jughead asked hesitantly, he can muster the strength to face Bryce but he needs help, he needs someone to get him to the finish line. “Please?”

“Of course, Jug” in a few short strides he is at Jug’s side, “whatever you need, okay, I’m here.”

“I could really use some strength right now” he confessed, “I need you to tell me I can do this.”

“You can, Jughead” he promised. “You have been so brave, and if tomorrow you want to fall apart and not get out of bed for a week then that’s okay, but I know you need to stay strong for tonight, so we’ll focus on that. We can pretend all the other stuff doesn’t matter. I want you to have this, Jug. You deserve to have justice, and since this town won’t give it to you, I won’t stop you from getting it for yourself.”

“Thank you” he smiled, it was small and fleeting but it was a start. “I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, Jug” he pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before enveloping him in a tight hug. “I’m going to do my best to get you through this, I promise.”

“You know what might help?” he asked, shaking off the despair, the bone-deep sorrow and forgetting the pain and heartache, covering it up with the memory of the boy he used to be.

“And what might that be?” FP eased back, holding him at arm’s length.

Jughead’s lips quirked into a small grin “That dog I always wanted.”

**XxX**

It’s almost time.

Night has descended over Riverdale, families and friends will be dressing in their warmest coats and scarves as they prepare for tonight’s game. They’ll be adorned in blue and gold, buzzing with excitement, ready to cheer on the Riverdale Bulldogs. Football, like this town's beloved maple syrup, is the heart and soul of Riverdale, its star players adored, seen as local heroes. Not for much longer. Tonight, Jughead is going to show them that one of their heroes’, their promising and bright star, is a monster. He will gather his strength, shake off the fear and hold tight to the fire he has spent the day fanning to life.

Tonight, for one last time, he can be brave; he can lock up the memories, forget the pain and swallow the grief. He’ll feel nothing but fire, courage coursing through his veins, leading him across the field, a hundred eyes watching his every step. He’ll walk through the fire and the smoke one last time, after, _after_ he can break, can give in to the repressed storm of emotions. Jughead spent half the day pretending, _pretending_ he was fine, that everything was as it should be, world right side up and not about to come crashing down around him.

It would, it had too, in order to heal he had to feel everything, he had to let _everything_ tear through him like a hurricane and hope that once it was over, he could rebuild again. There would be no chasing dark thoughts down the rabbit hole, no sinking into despair, drowning in sorrow. Lock it up, throw away the key, there was a war to be won. This was an unhealthy way to cope with his trauma, his dad shouldn’t be letting him act like this was just a normal night, but he wanted his son to get justice. So if they both had to plaster on fake smiles and act like this morning, the past two weeks hadn’t been hell then they would.

The show must go on.

He is standing on the top step, watching his dad walk towards the rusty old pick-up, twirling the keys around a finger when he realises his dad has never taken him to a game before. Jughead doesn’t like football, the only reason he goes is to support Archie, and a South Side Serpent isn’t welcome at these kinds of things. He’s never really cared if his dad saw a game or not but right now there is an ache in his chest and a lump in his throat and he can’t help but wish that they had. Maybe his dad would have taken one look at Bryce and known he was trouble, was dangerous and Jughead would have kept an eye out, would have studied him carefully to see if he was indeed someone untrustworthy.

All these maybes and all the what ifs aren’t going to change anything. It happened, and now he is hesitating on the steps as fear paralyses him, taking the air from his lungs. He can’t do this, he can’t move, _can’t breathe_. This won’t change anything; he’ll still be a victim. He’ll still be broken. And Bryce, Bryce could pack up, leave town and start over, no one would know the truth in a big city or in a small backwards town miles and miles away. If Bryce doesn’t go to jail he’ll never truly be punished for his crime. His life in Riverdale will be over but the Danvers have money, they can pack up and start over.

It doesn’t matter where Jughead goes, to a big, bustling city or sleepy seaside town, he’ll always carry the memories with him, he’ll always be a rape victim. Dark thoughts have him unravelling, have his legs trembling, threatening to give up, force him to the ground, a broken doll once more. There is a buzz coming from his jacket pocket, he retrieves the cell with trembling fingers, barely able to hold it, to see through the cracks in the screen that Bryce left. It takes a moment, the fog clouding his mind make the words seem like nonsense but as he forces out a deep, shuddering breath the letters unjumble.

It’s from Archie, it says, you’ve got this! I love you.

Archie’s words, his love have the fear fading, Jughead quickly texts back, needing to move fast before the spark is snuffed out again. Bounding down the stairs, he leaves his fears behind, climbs into the car. Breathes in the familiar scent of old leather and pine and thinks ‘it’s going to be fine. I can do this’. FP starts the engine, it sputters to life, the rumble of the motor feels like safety, has the last tendrils of panic evaporating from his veins. No more thinking, no more spiralling, he has to focus, keep it together, he can do this.

He can be his own hero, if only for a night.

***

“Are you ready for this, Jug?”

Yes, he’s caged the fear, the panic and every emotion in between. He’s got a fire burning in the pit of his stomach, courage hot in his blood. He is as ready as he’s ever going to be. Slipping out of the pick-up, into the cool night air he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts walking towards the field. Each step is heavy; the field is a loud, a bright nightmare glaring at him from a distance. It’s terrifying, the closer he gets, the harder it is to stand, _to breathe_. He keeps going, one foot in front of the other, his dad standing tall and strong beside him.

The roar of a cheering crowd drifts towards them on the sly breeze, the air is charged with excitement, smelling of popcorn and mud. The scent has his footsteps faltering, memories pounding at the door. Screaming to be set free, flickering images sneaking out through the cracks. He grabs hold of his dad, choking on the smell of earth, heart pounding in his ears, body vibrating with the intensity of a thudding base. He won’t give up now, but he needs a moment to reign in the escaped memories, shake off the feel of fingers and violent thrusts.

“Juggie?”

“I’m fine” He’s not, he’s shivering, but he can’t say anymore. If he speaks, if he lets the memories tumble out of his mouth he isn’t sure he’ll be able to make them stop, make the pain stop. Keep walking, keep going, this is about to end. In the distance the crowd roars, it’s almost time. It’s now or never. He keeps moving, ignoring the joyous, thunderous cheers, bright lights and pounding of his heart. Hidden in the shadows, between the rows of bleachers is Cheryl, she rushes towards him when they emerge from the darkness.

“You ready?” she asked, fiddling with the collar of his jacket then his beanie, he doesn’t pull away, even though he can feel his dad eyeing them curiously.

“I think so.” He is as ready as he’ll ever be and if he stays standing here a moment longer he’ll start to think _, panic_. Half the town is about to hear what happened to him, his father, his friends are going to hear the smugness in Bryce’s voice, the sick pride. They will see the monster that Bryce is. They will learn that he has left Jughead in pieces. That he thought about killing himself that he believes he is ruined. It’s going to break their hearts, it’s going to crush his dad to hear the recording but the truth, even the ones he’s hidden, must be set free.

“Well, it's show time” Her voice calls him back from the dark, she steps aside, giving a clear path to the football field.

The players are about to walk off when a piercing squeal burst from the speakers, there was a moment of silence, of confusion then he hears his voice, shaky but strong. It was time. He gave Cheryl one last look, she smiled her victory smile, and he began to march. Stepping out of the shadows and into the light he felt the shift in the energy, the prickly discomfort, the bewilderment as the recording played on, revealing the monster in the midst. Eyes followed his every step, the players on the field had frozen, looking between him and Bryce, shocked at the words they were hearing.

He found Bryce, found eyes filling with fear, _with anger_ , with a desire to run but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, all eyes were on him. He can’t help it, a fleeting smirk crosses his face, a victory grin just for Bryce then he is turning around to face the crowd. They are silent; there is no sound other than the recording that is on loop, revealing the truth over and over, driving it home. He doesn’t waver, stands strong and watches the people of Riverdale rise before him in silent support. It's Betty who stands first, face tear-streaked but eyes full of fire. She stands for him, Veronica and Kevin follow.

He feels something touch his hand and turning to his right he finds Archie, smiling proudly at him, twining their fingers for the town to see. He grips Archie’s hand tight, to his left his dad appears, taking up the empty space beside him, placing a strong hand on his lower back. He doesn’t know where they go from here. The truth is out, there are two football teams gathering around him, and Bryce is left standing on the field, his world crumbling to ruins. There is no one left on his side, to come to his rescue, even his parents have vanished from the bleachers. He is out here all alone, and Jug thinks he might take off but Sheriff Keller is walking towards him, and he knows it’s over, for him at least.

Jughead may have gotten retribution, he tore Bryce’s world down, but there is still a storm of emotions demanding to be released, _to be felt_. Tonight he will bask in the small victory; he’ll hold tight to Archie’s hand and walk off this field. In the morning he will surrender to the pain and feel every little thing. He’ll peel away the glue and tear off tape he’d used to hold himself together, he’ll completely break apart so this time he can be pieced back together the right way.


	6. It Comes and Goes In Waves

__

 

_There is a swelling storm_   
_And I'm caught up in the middle of it all_   
_And it takes control_   
_Of the person that I thought I was_   
_The boy I used to know_

_But there is a light_   
_In the dark_   
_And I feel its warmth_   
_In my hands_   
_In my heart_

**Dean Lewis - Waves**

 

It’s so easy to tear at the seams, to fall apart, to shatter into a thousand brittle pieces. It’s messy and ugly but it’s nothing compared to painstakingly putting the jagged pieces back together again. Healing comes painfully, it comes in stages, it’s exhausting and you have to fight every day, every damn second just to survive, _just to breathe_. It takes so much damn time, some days it doesn’t seem worth it.

But I can’t give up. There is a fire burning inside my soul and desire to live, to show Bryce he didn’t ruin me. I fight for my family, for my friends, for Archie and most importantly I fight for myself; for all the future tomorrows and adventures waiting just on the horizon.

I rise.

I rise.

I rise.

**XXX**

Everything comes crashing down after the game, as soon as the high, the adrenaline is gone from Jughead’s veins the hurricane unleashes total devastation. Strings cut, fire burnt out, nothing but smouldering ash; Jughead falls, he breaks in the most painful way. It’s ugly; it’s God awful for everyone who witnessed it. One moment he is fine, standing in the living room with Archie and their parents and then the memories burst free of their cage, releasing a tidal wave of emotions. Drowning him in misery, in the terrifying truth that he’s been raped and God he knows that but at this moment it feels like it could kill him. Justice, revenge, it’s not enough to save his life.

To make this better, to make _him_ better.

 Maybe one day it will be, but in that hour, with a cold dark night surrounding him, it’s not enough to take the fear from his lungs or the panic from a fragile mind. He collapses to the floor, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces and this time there is nothing to focus on. He has a name, one that tastes like copper and earth on his tongue, he has a face that haunts his sleep, and he has something close to justice, but in this dark moment its not enough reason to fight. He is beyond exhausted; his body is starving, desperate for a meal, for something to keep these feeble bones from breaking. He is weak, used up, last ounce of strength swept away in the wild winds of the hurricane.

Archie tries to catch him as he falls, to call him back from the darkness, they all try but the darkness has consumed him, he’s allowed it to. He must feel this; he must feel every little awful thing so he can find a way to live with it, find a way to move through it. He has to get to the other side, it’s a long and winding road to recovery, on that night he couldn’t fight, he was wrecked, armour left behind on the battlefield. That night the people who love him, who he trusts to protect him, decide the safest thing they can do is take him to the hospital.

After that he doesn’t remember much else. It’s a blur of faces and distorted imagery then darkness, the peaceful kind that comes from a drug pulsating through a bloodstream. For one night there is nothing, there is peace and when he wakes he can think a little clearer, breathe a little easier. It’s the first day of true recovery, and there are going to be bad, God awful, not so bad and okay days before he is at the end, before he is better. Jughead will take it one day at a time, he will relive the trauma and face the monsters in his mind, he’ll set himself free piece by broken piece.

It’s been a week since the football game since he finally came undone. In the span of that time he has broken down, had multiple panic attacks, and relived the night, he was raped with his therapist Doctor Allison Hadley. It’s been painful; his moods are fickle, he is on edge, ready to snap, to lash out or withdraw, cutting off everyone who loves him, even Archie. He hates that he is so unstable, that he can’t control the rapid-fire thoughts and feelings shredding him apart.

Everyone is so damn nice to him; they are so kind, caring and helpful, which makes him short circuit. He isn’t used to having people care this much or pay attention to him, and yes, they are paid to watch his every move, to help him through this, but they honestly care about his wellbeing. Riverdale Psychiatric Hospital is full of amazing people that will do everything in their power to help him get better. He is grateful, it’s just something he’s not used to. He’s going to have to try though because if he can’t even make it through one day without spiralling, he is going to be here a long time.

At least it’s not like the movies; the hospital is modern, the rooms warm and comfortable, the nurse’s sweet and the fellow patients are nice enough to talk to. The ward is only small, there are thirteen rooms in total, and only six kids, including himself, are currently staying here. They have group therapy together every Tuesday and Thursday, and they eat together in the dining room at three times a day under the watchful of eye of the hospital staff. He’s even starting to make a friend, which considering where he is, seemed unlikely. Sabrina Spellman is a lot like him, guarded, sarcastic and loves watching horror movies and she used to write poetry then something terrible happened, something inside her broke, and now she is here with all the other broken toys.

It’s been a long week, it’s been up and down and inside out, but today Jughead is feeling a little more hopeful, a little less sorrowful and bitter. Archie will be here any minute now, and he is nervous, pacing the floors anxiously. They haven’t seen each other since Jughead pushed him away the other day, it was an ugly, brutal fight and it was all Jughead’s fault. He had let the thoughts in his head get the better of him, let the whispers poison his mind, and by the time Archie arrived he was spiralling.

They broke up if they were ever together in the first place. Jughead told Archie he should find someone who wasn’t tainted, who wasn’t ruined. Archie tried to reason with him, placate him with pretty words but the darkness had taken over, there was no reasoning with Jug when he was under its spell.  Later that evening he cried himself to sleep, hating that he let the whispers, the fears destroy the one good thing he had. When morning came, he texted Archie, apologising and offering no excuses for his behaviour, the fact he was raped didn’t give him the right to be a jerk.

Like always Archie forgave him, they decided to slow things down, to actually talk about what they were and what they wanted from this relationship or soon to be one. It’s why he was so nervous, there is so much he hasn’t said, not to anyone, and today he is going to reveal what has always been in his heart. He is, has been in love with Archie since they first kissed at thirteen. It’s always been Archie; it’ll only ever be Archie. There have been girls and guys in the past who were curious and brave enough to try and start something, but their smooth, silky ‘heys’ with their hidden intentions were ignored. He’d shoot them a death glare and off they’d scurry.

Eventually, they stopped trying, and Jughead kept waiting, kept hoping that the boy he loved would love him back. Today he will find out. He knows Archie loves him, that they kissed, but there are still fears echoing in his mind, convincing him the kiss was a lie. Archie didn’t want the broken, tainted mess Bryce left; he only kissed back out of fear of hurting him. Archie would find someone better, someone unblemished, unmarked by the dark. These thoughts rattle through his mind; he does his best to push them aside, to focus on something positive like Doctor Hadley taught him to.

When Archie appears in the doorway, with fries and milkshakes from Pops, Jughead is sitting down at the desk having managed to wrestle his inner demons into submission and silence the racing thoughts. At first, they talk about trivial things, but it's difficult to talk about what is unfolding in the world outside these walls without mentioning the Bryce or his family. The whole school is talking about him, suddenly shocked that he lied, that he is going to jail for raping the kid from the wrong side of the tracks and his family is leaving Riverdale like they can outrun this. Well, they can if they try hard enough, buy a new shiny house in a far away town, disown their son and they get to start over.

Jughead is trying to start over, rebuild and it’s so tiring, it’s harder than he ever thought possible. The night Bryce raped him is when he started falling, when the world started rushing by and the night of the game is when he finally hit the ground. He shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, they were strewn over the field, left in Archie’s living room and he had to find and put every piece back where it belonged. There would be holes, cracks in his skin, _his soul_ , there was too much damage, and not everything could be replaced. His virginity, his last shreds of innocence were lost, stolen on his birthday. Blow out the candles and make a wish, wish for something better than this.

There are no wishes or magical fix-its. There is just a tired soul in a feeble body with a fragile mind. But there is also a redheaded boy, who is holding tight to his cold, trembling fingers and though so much is lost, there is so much to be gained. Jughead will keep fighting, will keep picking up the pieces and rising to unsteady feet every time he is knocked down. When he falls, when he stumbles, he’ll let the people who love him catch him, he’ll let them brush off the dust, and he’ll start over.

He is going to begin again, for his family, for his friends, for Archie and most importantly himself.

**XxX**

It’s hell watching Jughead fall apart, it’s heartbreaking in so many ways, and Archie spends the night awake staring at the ceiling and making wishes on the glow in the dark stars that are still stuck there. He makes wishes the universe can’t deliver on. He makes wish after wish but it doesn’t do a damn thing, it doesn’t stop the world around him from falling apart. His parents finalise their divorce, having put it off after everything that happened, Jughead breaks up with him, if they were even really together, to begin with. He dreams of Miss Grundy, of the summer he spent sneaking around with her, having sex in the backseat of her car or by the edge of Sweetwater River.

He wakes covered in sweat, feeling ill, _wrong_ , unnerved by the memories that once seemed sweet. It takes a while, a few more days of denial, when he comes home from seeing Jug, heartbroken and grief-stricken, it hits. The things Jughead had shouted at him, crying out that he was tainted, ruined and not worthy of love, of happiness are the exact same feelings he has been struggling with for months. Since this summer, since Miss Grundy offered him a ride home only to take him to the empty school parking lot where she put her hands on his thighs and pressed bruising kisses to his throat.

He wasn’t okay with it; he thought he should be so he gave in, let her take control, pull his strings over and over until finally she was forced to leave town. He isn’t okay with what happened; he isn’t as devastated as Jughead is but the memory makes his stomach twist. It makes him sad, and now he gets why Jug was so miserable the first few days after he was raped. There is so much grief in his chest, for Jughead, for himself, for this town and the innocence lost.

Archie has reached his breaking point. He has watched Jug fall apart, watched him shatter right before his very eyes and he knows if he doesn’t talk to someone he will quickly drown. He walks downstairs; it’s just him and dad once more, his mum having flown home yesterday. He finds his dad in the kitchen, drinking tea and reading the paper; Archie sits down, clears his throat, takes a deep breath and lets everything out. When it’s over he is exhausted, throat sore from talking, from crying his heart out. That night he sleeps with his dad, hating the empty, loneliness of his room, in the morning they decide he should start seeing someone. It’s a start, a move in the right direction.

The hellish week is nearly over, it’s the last day of Autumn, the leaves are gone from the trees, leaving skeleton branches to sway in the wind and scratch like beasts on windows late at night. It’s a bright, beautiful day outside, it’s a shame Jughead hasn’t been given clearance to go into the hospital garden yet. At least his room is warm and cosy with its wooden furniture and large window facing the woods. They haven’t seen each other since they fought, they have talked a little on text but today is the day they are going to put everything out into the open.

It's terrifying. Archie’s only recently become aware of his feelings for Jughead, and now he has allowed himself to feel, to accept that he is in love with his best friend he doesn’t want to give it up. He doesn’t want to lose Jughead before they have the chance to become something else. He’ll swallow his fear, brace himself for whatever is to come and finally, finally they will set free all that has been waiting to be said.

***

Archie finds Jughead sitting at the small desk in his room, writing in his journal; it brings a smile to his face. Jughead hadn’t written anything in a while, this is a good sign, and when he looks up there is a gentle smile on his face. Things go by smoothly, granted they are only talking about trivial things and drinking milkshakes and eating fries, circling around everything that needs to be spoken. It’s hard to find things to talk about; the whole town is talking about Jughead and what happened. The entire school is shocked to learn they were wrong, that Bryce was a liar, a monster.

People keep coming up to him and saying how sorry they are for what happened, when only last week they didn’t care, didn’t believe Jughead. He hates it; he hates that the school suddenly only sees Jug as a victim, as idle gossip, an exciting scandal that is rocking this town. It needs to stop; they need to shut up and stop pretending to care, that they are invested in Juggie’s recovery when they didn’t stop to notice his downfall. Some of them still don’t even know his name, he hears whispers in the halls ‘did you hear about that kid who was raped at a party’ and he wants to scream at them, to tell them the kid’s name is Jughead, and he deserves to be more than gossip.

He stays silent when maybe he shouldn’t have because the whispers have reached this far. They have infiltrated this place of healing and when Jughead says, voice heavy with sorrow ‘sometimes I feel I’ll only ever be the kid who was raped at a party.’ Archie decides enough is enough. It’s time Juggie knows, _believes_ he is more than a victim than a story to be told, he is a survivor, _a hero_. He takes the straw from Jug’s mouth then takes his hands into his own, holding them tight.

“Juggie, you’re not any of these things” Archie wished he knew the right thing to say, that he was good with words the way Jughead was but he is going to try. He’s going to speak from the heart and hopes it's enough to make Jug let go of the fear that he is unworthy. “You’re not tainted or ruined or ‘some kid who was raped at a party’ you are still you. I still see you.”

Dark lashes flutter, chasing away the tears, “I wish I could just shut the thoughts off, that I could look in the mirror and see someone other than a victim but it’s so hard, Archie. I feel like I might as well have the words tattooed onto my skin, branded on my soul.”

Archie hates this; it's breaking his heart to see Jug struggle to keep it together, to see he can’t believe the words, can’t see himself as anything more than what Bryce made of him. Well, that’s not good enough; he is not leaving here until at least a small part of Juggie believes him. Looking down at the trembling hands he holds, staring at the pale wrist he gets an idea. Jumping to his feet he rushes out of the room to the nurses’ station, asking to borrow a pen. For a moment, he is worried they might not give him one, this isn’t a normal hospital, but the sweet middle-aged nurse with kind eyes hands him a sharpie; it will do perfectly.

Returning to Jughead he slips onto the bed beside him, taking one of his narrow wrists into his warm hand. Jughead watches him, eyes burning with questions, but he trusts Archie enough to let him carry on with the task. Steadily he writes survivor onto the pale flesh, blowing on the ink before pressing a quick kiss to the word. He doesn’t stop to take in Jug’s reaction; he is too busy taking his other hand and writing hero, before once more blowing the ink dry and kissing the delicate flesh.

“So, you don’t forget” he whispers, voice caught in his throat at the sight of tears and a brittle smile on his best friend’s face. “I love you, Juggie. I want us to be together, and if you’re not ready, then I will wait. I will give you time to heal, but I won’t ever leave your side or see you as anything less than you are.”

“Archie” he breathed, chest rattling with repressed sobs. “Thank you… and I want us to be together too. When I’m not like this, but I don’t want to make you wait for me. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for me to get better. If I can even get better.”

“You can, Juggie” Archie reassured, brushing away the falling tears. “I know you can, and I will wait as long as it takes.”

Jughead nodded, still looking so broken, so lost.

“I wish I could take the hurt away” he confessed, wrapping his arms around his trembling friend, easing them back, so they were both resting against the pillows.

“You help” he mumbled, tracing a nimble finger over the word survivor “this helps.”

Jughead falls asleep in Archie’s arms, they haven’t talked everything through, but there will be time. At least Archie can find hope, let it fill his chest and light his soul, he believes, _he knows_ Jughead will get better. It’s going to take time, it’s going to be painful and challenging but Archie will be here every step of the way. He’ll write words on Jug’s skin, he’ll whisper reassurances, he’ll spend every day making sure Jughead can see himself as the hero, the _survivor_ he is.

**XxX**

Winter arrives on the morning on November 1ist; the first snowflake daintily flutters down from the sombre grey sky at exactly quarter to nine. Jug watches it land on the window edge, wanting nothing more than to be able to go outside and feel the coldness on his skin, a fresh snowflake on the tip of his tongue. The sky breaks open, a flurry of flakes descend upon Riverdale, blanketing the town in glistening, freezing white. Winter is here; it arrives with the giddy laughter of excitement as kids rush out to play in the first snowfall, with weary sighs of parents who chase their children out into the cold. To the outside it’s a thrilling day, it’s the countdown to Christmas, to a New Year.

Inside these walls it’s another bleak day, it feels colder than yesterday, but it’s not the same as feeling the freezing winds and ice against one's skin. Jughead sighs, turning away from the window and making his way to the small wooden desk. He sits down on the forest green swivel chair, resuming his writing. Doctor Hadley had told him to start writing again; promising that getting his thoughts out of his head and onto paper would help him view them in a different light. It was helping, he was slowly retelling the night he was raped, setting free the emotions and fears that had plagued him ever since.

He was slowly getting better, the first week had been the worst, when he tore open the wounds and allowed the hurricane inside his mind to destroy him, to blow his bones to dust. Ever so slowly he was picking up the pieces, writing fears, memories and twisted dreams onto paper so that one far off day he could be free. It’s more difficult than he imagined, there is so much to overcome, to learn to live with. Learning to cope with crippling anxiety, panic attacks and PTSD is not how he wanted to spend his life.

At times, he is so full of rage, furious that Bryce did this to him, that he enjoyed ruining his life like it was nothing. The day Bryce had his hearing, which Jughead doesn’t attend under Doctor Hadley’s orders, is fucking awful. He is terrified that somehow Bryce will still get off even though he had confessed to Sheriff Keller when there was no use lying anymore, the truth was out and pretending to be sorry was the only thing that would save him. Thankfully it doesn’t, he is sent away to a juvenile detention centre for nine months, it’s not near long enough and his father and Archie are outraged but it’s something, it’s a little closure.

When the rage turns cold, he is suspended in sadness, lost in grief, in the knowledge that he isn’t the same anymore. Some days he is lost and alone, feeling miles and miles away from the people he loves, coming apart at the seams, choking on ugly words and bitter tears. Other days he is resentful and bitter, shutting everyone out, locking the doors and throwing away the keys until the dark releases its sharp claws. The anger and sadness come and go in waves, his moods are fickle, changeable like the weather, and now they are talking about putting him on medication.

On days like today, when he isn’t drowning in sorrow or burning with rage, and he can think clearly, it does seem like a wise idea. Even though he feels okay right now, there is the thrumming of fear in the back of his mind. If he’s not sad or angry he is afraid, the fear never really lets up, it’s always there, a lurking presence in the back of his mind, ready, _eager_ to swallow him, to make him come apart. If Doctor Hadley and his dad decide it’s the best next step, then he won’t fight it. He wants to get better, to be on the outside; standing in the snow with the boy he loves at his side.

It's a few weeks until the school dance, Archie hasn’t asked yet, but Jug knows he will, and he wants to go, to have one normal night. He doesn’t know if he’ll be out by then, but he is going to do his damn best to find a way out of this misery, _this darkness_. It’s tiring; it’s painful, all he does it fight, claw his way over sharp glass and hot coals to get to a new day, to get to the other side. One day he hopes he won’t have to fight, that he won’t have to count his breaths and focus on objects or recite names of streets to calm himself down. Hope, fight, try, it’s all he is doing; it’s all he can do. If he stops, for even a moment, he might not be able to start again.

So, he writes, he goes to therapy and art class with Sabrina, he eats what he can, and when he is prescribed an anti-anxiety medication a day later, he takes it without fuss. Days pass, bad, God awful, terrible and okay days unfold around him, outside Riverdale turns to a frosty winter wasteland. Friday afternoon Archie, Cheryl, Veronica and Betty arrive; he’s sitting in the common room with Sabrina when they appear dressed in thick coats and skin flushed from the cold. It’s the first day since getting here that he is allowed outside. Archie takes him by the hand and leads him out into the snow, giddy and playful, twirling him around like a fool in love.

For the first time in a long while, he lets go of the fear, the sorrow and rage and enjoys himself, enjoys his friend’s rich laughter and playfulness. The girls build a snowman while Archie and Jug chase each other around with snowballs, laughing, carefree for a time. Exhausted the boys collapse onto the cold ground, shivering, but far too content to head inside and end this precious moment. The girls have finished their snowman, Sabrina had joined them and he catches her flirting with Cheryl, who he is surprised is here.

He guesses they are friends now. It’s crazy, at the start of the year he just wanted Archie back by his side now he has three new friends, and Archie was finally almost his. With each passing day, he could see the good again; the blink and you’ll miss it silver lining to this nightmare. Even in the darkest hours, there had to be hope. Turning to face Archie, studying the snowflakes in his lashes, warm smile and bright eyes shining with adoration, with love, he realised he had a light to guide him home. A safe harbour to rest, an anchor to tether himself to, a friend to write words of love and strength onto his skin.

The echo of the words Archie wrote still whisper against his flesh, he traces the place they used to be, imagining Archie’s warm touch, letting it chase away the chill in his bloodstream. He’s starting to believe the words, to see himself as more than a victim, on the good days at least. Archie reminds him, he sends them on texts, re-writes them onto his wrists whenever he gets the chance, kissing the ink into his skin, forcing the words to sink into his blood, to fill him with love. Jug is trying, he is writing the words into his journal, against his skin and on the steam covered mirror.

Archie believes enough for them. Jughead doesn’t doubt that Archie sees him as anything less than what he was. He sees the writer, the sleuth, the boy he was before it all came crashing down, before Bryce, before the fall. It’s with the knowledge that Archie loves him, will always love him, no matter what that has him deciding it’s time to open up, to talk about the night of his rape. Taking Archie’s hand, he leads him inside, out of the cold, through the hospital and back to his room, where they sit on the couch, huddled under a blanket.

“Is everything okay, Juggie?” Archie asked, there isn’t much room on the floral-patterned sofa, so their limbs are entangled.

“Yeah, for the first time in a while, things are okay” he offered a reassuring smile “I just wanted to talk…” he ducked his head, feeling nervous “I want to talk about the night of the party.”

“Jug, it’s okay” Archie tilted his face up with gentle, encouraging fingers “I’m here, I’m always going to be here.”

“I know” he choked out “It’s just… I haven’t talked to anyone about this, apart from Doctor Hadley, and I don’t want to upset you. But I need to tell you what happened, how it happened, so it doesn’t affect us later. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I get it” he reassured. “I need to know, so I don’t accidentally trigger you or do something that upsets or scares you.”

“Yeah, all those fun things” he sighed. “If it gets too much and you need me to stop, you can tell me, okay?”

“I’ll be alright, Juggie.”

Jughead stood up, moving to sit on the bed across from Archie, needing some space for this, needing to take a deep breath and let it rush out, releasing the anxiety from his bloodstream, the nerves from his bones. Opening his mouth, he starts to speak, voice unsteady, eyes filling with tears and head clouding with unpleasant memories. He keeps talking, setting the dark tale free into the cool air where it sits heavy in the space between them.

His breath hitches when he says “Bryce pinned me to ground, my head was killing, and I know I should have tried to take my beanie off, but I felt _his_ hands tugging on my pants, and I panicked. It happened so fast. He pulled my jeans down then flipped me onto my stomach, and I swear I tried but when he ripped my underwear off I just froze. I was suspended in fear, and I couldn’t do a damn thing. I couldn’t scream or move, and then I felt his fingers” he swallows the bile rising in his throat, Archie is sitting beside now, rubbing soothing circles onto his back. “It was painful but when he… God Archie when he was inside me it felt like I was being torn apart. It hurt so fucking much, there was blood, and I could barely stand afterwards.”

“Juggie” Archie is crying, trembling. “Juggie, I’m so sorry you had to go through that, I wish I could have stopped it, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says for what feels like the thousands time. “Archie, I mean it, this isn’t your fault, it’s not anyone’s fault. It’s a shitty thing that happened to me, _to us_ but we’re going to be okay. I can see that now” he could, at least today, but he wanted Archie to believe, to stop feeling so guilty so he would lie. No, he’d make a promise, to get better, to fight each day for him, for the happiness that Bryce stole from them. He had been brave once; he’d walked onto a football field and stared Bryce right in the eye, watched his world crash down around him. He could be brave; he could be strong again, for Archie, for all their tomorrows.

“It’s not your fault” Archie emphasised, always there to make sure the guilt didn’t turn to stone in Jug’s bones. “You did nothing wrong, Jug. You were afraid, you froze, and someone did something to you that you didn’t want.”

He sees it in Archie’s eyes, pure understanding, a glimmer of the truth he’d denying for so long. Archie had finally admitted to himself that he wasn’t okay with what Miss Grundy had done to him. He may not have said anything about her, but Jug could see; he could sense the difference. How beautifully tragic are they? Both rape victims, both used and abused then tossed aside like they were nothing. But they weren’t nothing. Archie was everything to Jug just as he was everything to Archie. Archie still loved him even though he froze, even though Bryce violated him, tainting his body, splintering his mind and Jughead loved Archie regardless of what Miss Grundy did to him.

In the cold grey light of a snowy winter’s afternoon, Jughead finally saw something he hadn’t been able to see before now. He saw that they were more than what Bryce and Miss Grundy had made of them, that yes, they were victims and that was okay, it wasn’t an ugly word or disgusting thing, but it wasn’t all they were. They were Archie and Jughead, best friends since childhood, rape victims, maybe, hopefully, one-day boyfriends, and most importantly they were survivors, they were heroes. At in this moment, he believed it, there were still many days ahead before he could believe it every minute every day.

“It’s not your fault, either, Archie” he promised, “It’s theirs.”

He nodded, lips quirking into a gentle smile “They don’t get to ruin us, we’re still standing.”

There are no words that can convey how much he truly loves, adores Archie, so he closes the distance between them, kissing him deeply, sending all his love, his adoration through this small gesture. It’s a kiss to start a fire, to chase away self-loathing and silence inner demons, it’s a start; it’s a promise for a better and brighter future.

**XxX**

The happiness lasts for the weekend, come Monday Jughead is struggling through the motions. The bright hopefulness is snuffed out overnight, burnt to ash by the nightmare that tore him from sleep, leaving him drenched in sweat, shivering in the cold, _in fear_. He didn’t sleep much after that; he was restless, the horror show playing out behind closed lids every time he shut his eyes. Morning took an eternity to come, by the time a sliver of sunlight seeped into his room he was lost in grief, too tired to find something to tether himself too. Not even Sabrina was able to coax him out of the darkness; she let him be, leaving him a note to come find her when he was ready.

He didn’t leave his room all day, barely ate and sometime after lunch Doctor Hadley arrived. There wasn’t much to say to her, they had spoken about the nightmares and panic attacks countless times before, by now he felt like a broken record player, stuck playing the same old songs. The sadness would pass, it always did, but when it hit him it felt endless, it felt like the happiness never happened, would never come again. A good night’s sleep, time, patience, would have him feeling better again, finding hope in reach and happiness right at his fingertips.

Around and around he’d go, where he lands, no one knows. But he would land, the darkness would release him from its oily tendrils and fight would filter in, chasing away the shadows and shining a light on hope, on the smouldering ashes of the fire burnt out. One day soon the darkness would not be able to consume, to overtake every thought in his splintered mind. One day when the homes of Riverdale were adorned in Christmas lights or the first flowers of spring had blossomed he would know how to fight the darkness. Today he can’t find a way out, there is so much noise inside his head, swirling thoughts keeping him from sleep, from finding peace.

It’s a little after two when his dad arrives; he’s been working with Fred, despite the cold and the snow they are doing their best to break ground at the construction site. He always smells of dirt and Jughead hasn’t had the heart to tell him that the smell upsets him. Today his clothes are clean, neat and he smells of the same old aftershave he’s used for as long as Jug can remember. His father’s arrival has some of the darkness dissipating, heaving himself into a sitting position he offers FP a brittle smile and a soft ‘hey dad’ in greeting.

“Hey, Juggie,” he said, returning the smile, “They said you’re not having a good day.”

“I’m okay” he lied, shrugging “just going through the motions.”

FP levels him with a stern look “C’mon, Jug, what’s up? I’m here for you.”

Jughead sighed; his dad had been so wonderful to him lately, supportive and called in every day after work to spend a few hours with him and staying all through the weekends. They’d talk about therapy, school work which he insisted he keep up to date with when he was able. They would reminisce about the past, talk about the future, about him coming home once he was discharged. His dad had changed, he was sober, he was softer, always paying attention and being understanding whenever Jug spiralled or acted out, saying cruel, unfair things in the bitterness.

They were piecing themselves back together, finding a way to fit, to work together even with their jagged, broken edges. Jughead was struggling; he was terrified that the other shoe would drop, that he’d wake up and his dad would never arrive with food from Pops or a new book to read. It’s the fear that kept him silent, that kept him from opening up or setting all that should be said free. There was so much he wanted from his dad, to tell him, but fear held the words hostage.

How would his dad react if he told him about the night he was raped? He couldn’t stomach the thought of telling him the sordid details; the ugly tale stayed held behind clenched teeth, sitting like fire in his throat. He knows at some point it needs to be told, it’s the only way to heal. It’s frustrating; it’s painful having to retell it, having to speak the words that taste like copper and earth and feel like shards of glass in his mouth. But each time he relives it, a string tethering him to that night frays, snaps and blows away on winter winds. After, he feels lighter; there is a little less darkness in his heart, and the voices that whisper lies are silenced because they were wrong.

That’s the heart of it, the fear holding back the words. He fears judgement; he is ashamed he wasn’t strong enough, that fear stole every ounce of fight from these bones. Doctor Hadley keeps telling him it's okay, it was a perfectly normal reaction, and he shouldn’t be ashamed, he survived, and that’s what matters. Everyone keeps saying that, he is a survivor, he lived through a painful ordeal, and he is still standing, still breathing, _still alive_. Day by day he is learning to accept this, to let go of the guilt and shame, he is searching, seeking the boy he used to be, and the missing pieces are revealed like lost treasure every time a string severs.

Keep trying, keep fighting, set fear on fire and march through the smoke and the flames to get to the other side. Taking a deep breath, he lets the words rise, feeling like sharp knives as they work themselves free. He speaks of the nightmare that woke him in the dead night; building the courage to once more relive the night he was raped. It’s still agonising, has tears gathering in his eyes and makes his stomach churn at the memory of pain, the memory of blood growing cold on shivering skin. His father listens silently, eyes darkening in a swell of rage, glistening with tears and heartache.

When it’s over, Jughead is drained, feeling nauseous and wanting nothing more than to sleep, to forget awhile. His dad is pacing, shoulders tense and distress thick and toxic in the air. Jughead is regretting this, regrets confessing to how much it hurt even days later, to how he wanted to very briefly kill himself. Retelling these ugly tales is like being flayed alive, exposing all the raw nerves and fears. Eventually, FP stops pacing and walks over to his son, pulling him in for a crushing hug.

This is a silent promise to always be there, to do better, to be better. It’s an apology for not being able to stop this, for letting it happen in the first place; for not paying attention when Jug was clearly drowning long before Bryce raped him. Sitting down on the bed, FP takes Jug’s trembling hand into his own, kissing each knuckle. The tension ebbs, Jughead sags, feeling another string work free, he sighs wearily, blinking fatigue from his eyes.

“When you get out of here, I’m going to have somewhere for us to live, okay? No more rusty, cold trailer, I’m going to get us a real home” he vowed, smoothing down his son's unruly locks. “It won’t be anything fancy, but it’s about time I give you a home again. What do you say, bub?”

“Will mum and Jellybean come back?” he asked, feeling hopeful, feeling excited at the thought of having his family together again.

“I’d like them too” FP replied, words slightly hesitant. “We’ll have to see, your mum and I aren’t in a very good place right now.”

“Because of me?”

“No, Juggie, it’s a lot of little things, but we’ll try to work it out.” He squeezed Jug’s shoulder in reassurance “Right now you are my top priority.”

“Okay, well I’d like to come home” he would love to come home, to have a home, even if for now it was the two of them. He needed somewhere safe, somewhere to heal once he was released from here and it had been so long since he had four walls to call his own. “For us to have a home, regardless of how flash it is.”

“Then it's done” he declared, “I’ll start looking first thing tomorrow. It’ll all be okay, Jug.”

Jughead smiled, feeling a little more of the darkness, the sadness fade from these tired bones. He enveloped his dad in a hug, breathing in the smell of leather and comforting aftershave. Feeling a flicker of hope, a spark of embers, he felt another piece shift back into place, another stepping stone laid down on the road to recovery.

**XxX**

For the first time in months, Archie is truly starting to feel happy, hopeful. Seeing a therapist had been the right thing to do, he hadn’t realised how much the events of the past year had affected him. So much had happened; this town had been swirling with darkness, its wholesome neighbourhoods hiding monsters. Archie always thought Riverdale would be safe, would be the one place where wicked things didn’t happen but he failed to see the monsters standing in his midst, a mistake he’d never make again. A friend, a teacher, a stranger walking through the streets could be dangerous; they could hold the power to unravel lives in their hands.

For a while there he started feeling afraid, scared to turn a corner and find another monster disguised as a friend. It’s going to take some time to learn to trust again, to not look for the darkness in others instead of the good. Everything he thought he knew was wrong, his life has been changed, and there is no going back to the carefree boy who was working construction and writing songs. There is only moving forwards, and he is trying to not distance himself from people, from friends so he can’t be hurt again, so Jughead can’t be hurt again.

There is a lot of pain to work through, a lot of fears and memories to overcome but he is happier. Today he is meeting Jug at Pop’s for breakfast; he’s been allowed to spend a few hours away from the hospital in preparation for his potential release next week. It seems a little like a test, making sure Juggie is ready to be out in the world again and can cope without constant monitoring. Archie cannot wait until Jughead is released, he’s missed him greatly, his room is lonely, empty without him. There is a space where an air mattress should be, an emptiness that only Jughead could fill.

Jug is getting better. It’s been a long journey and it’s not over yet, it will take months for him to fully recover and everyone keeps telling him that Jug might never be the same again. Archie doesn’t like to think about how there is a fundamental piece of his best friend missing forever, lost, stolen. But there is, Jughead was raped and it nearly killed him, it shattered his world apart. One night, one moment, a wicked choice and everything came tumbling down in the wake of violence and cruelty. Life is so fragile, everything is breakable and there are people in this town who have broken others, destroyed lives.

With so much darkness it’s hard to keep fighting, to find the light and hold onto hope, but every day Archie wakes grateful that Jughead is getting better, that they are getting better. When Betty or his dad or his therapist say things won’t ever be the same again, he believes them. Things are going to be better; the monsters are gone, hidden truths have been set free and come warmer days he and Jughead will go on their road trip. It’s okay if they’re a little different, it’s to be expected, but not in the way everyone is suggesting. They make it sound like the darkness will never let go, that they, Jughead will always be broken. They won’t be, they have been hurt, and it’s changed them but they will always be Archie and Jughead, and that’s what no one gets.

Nothing, _no one_ can change the fact they are best friends, two sides of the same coin, broken or whole they will always be together.

**XxX**

Stepping into Pop’s feels like coming home, the neon lights, the familiar faces, the smell of fresh coffee have the tension easing from his shoulders. Finding Archie in their usual booth Jughead makes his way over to him, trying to ignore the watchful eyes. As excited as he is to be out of the hospital for the morning and have breakfast with Archie while his dad runs errands in town, he does fear the stares, the whispers. His victory march onto the football field had made him the talk of the town, suddenly everyone seemed to know Jughead Jones and had something to say, a question to ask. They all wanted to know the sordid details; they wanted something to distract them from their dull day to day lives.

A murder, a rape, this town must suddenly be thrilling to all the bored housewives and starved for attention youths. Being the centre of gossip wasn’t what he wanted. He always lingered in the shadows, never seeking the spotlight and yet he stepped right into it. It was a price that had to be paid, and eventually, something else would happen, they’d catch Jason Blossom’s killer, or something else of more interest would snatch their attention. For the time being, he had to suffer through it, duck his head, hunch his shoulders and slip into the booth, hiding from sight in the corner.

“Hey, you okay?” Archie asked, reaching out to take his hand.

“Yeah, I just feel like everyone is staring.”

Archie looked to the right, surveying the room, a hush had fallen over the diner. “Don’t worry about them, Juggie.”

Jughead sighed, lifting his gaze to meet Archie’s warm brown eyes, he seemed happier, less burdened; it brought a smile to his face. “Hey,” he said, lacing their fingers together “you look happy.”

“Of course, I’m happy” he replied, “My best friend is coming home soon.”

Oh, Archie was excited that he would be coming home, which yes, hopefully, he would be but not to Archie’s house. His dad had rented them a small house on the south side, and as much as he loved living with Archie, it was time to go home, to give his dad a chance to be a better father. He hates having to be the one to ruin Archie’s happiness, but not saying anything isn’t helpful either. They’ll still see each other at school and on weekends. This is probably for the best anyway; he’s not sure their parents would feel comfortable with them living together and dating. There is something to be gained, something new and exciting and he is glad he is starting to see the good things again.

“Arch, I’m going to move back in with my dad” he revealed, hating the look of disappointment flash in Archie’s eyes. “He’s changed, he’s working full time and not drinking, he even rented us a place on the south side.”

“Jug, I’m happy for you.”

Jughead could hear the lie underlying the words, see the sadness flickering across his face. “I’ll still see you at school and on weekends” he added, trying to get the spark to return to those warm brown eyes, “and our dads probably wouldn’t be okay with us living together now that we’re dating.”

Archie perked up, the dazzling sparkle returning to his eyes “so, we’re official?”

“Yeah, I mean, we haven’t technically been on any dates yet but after everything we’ve been through I’m tired of waiting.” His heart beat wildly in his chest, butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach, he wanted this, to be more, to explore what they could be. Archie had been the light guiding him through the storm, showing safe passage to shore. He’d waited long enough, it was time to be brave once more and finally go after what his heart has desired for so long. “I want us to be more, for us to go on dates and do stupid cliché couple things.”

“I want that too, Juggie” Archie smile is as bright as a thousand suns, thawing the ice from Jug’s weary bones and guarded heart. “I only recently realised how much I care for you, but I want us to be together.”

“Okay,” he said, unable to hold back the smile, the slight cheeky grin as he said, “well we’re official.”

Archie beamed, biting back a laugh “I feel like we did this whole thing backwards.”

“Yeah, well, you’re dating a weirdo so don’t expect things to be normal.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way” he admitted, leaning over the table to kiss Jug on the cheek “and as our first official date, Jughead Jones, would you go to Home Coming with me?”

Jughead wasn’t going to say no, even though crowded spaces made him uncomfortable; always had, even before Bryce but he wouldn’t say no to this. They deserved one normal night to be teenagers, to dance to cheery songs under a tacky disco ball and paper decorations. It would be fine; he would do his best to ignore the curious eyes, the whispers; he’d have Archie by his side the whole night. When he looked into Archie’s eyes, the world faded away, when he took his hand, he found peace.

“Yes, Archie” he smiled, feeling happier than he had in months, cherishing the moment knowing they were still fleeting, easily snuffed out “I will go to Home Coming with you.”

***

Time passes too fast, before long FP returns for him, and it’s time to go, and the three of them are stepping out into the chilly day. Jughead hesitates on the steps; he doesn’t want to leave, to return the hospital where he is monitored twenty-four seven and must follow strict rules and eat when told, be in bed by nine and up by eight even though he spent the night tossing and turning. It’s not to say it hasn’t helped, because it has, Doctor Hadley and the team dedicated to his care have done so much for him. They have allowed him to get a handle on the anxiety and to understand the complicated feelings rattling through his fragile mind.

His time in Riverdale Psychiatric Hospital has helped. Hell, it saved his life but that doesn’t stop him from missing freedom, from missing Archie. He is improving; there is still a long way to go before he is better before he feels truly happy. He is starting to feel okay and okay is a significant improvement from suicidal, from the terrified mess he was for weeks. Fear still grips him, leaving him paralysed, there are still panic attacks, triggers and twisted memories distorted into something monstrous that wake him in the dead of night. Memories seep through the cracks; rise up out of the dark, and for a few terrifying moments he gets lost, feels rough hands on his skin and something painful inside.

With deep breaths, he fights through the memories, the phantom touches, calming himself with the name of streets. Learning to self-calm was a life-saver. Doctor Hadley had taught him how to identify a panic attack before it started, she taught him mindfulness and how to breathe through the axniety. He wasn’t better, not even close but he wasn’t in ruins anymore. There was a spark, a flicker of hope once more burning bright in his chest and each day they got a little brighter, a little bigger. There would still be dark times ahead, but the other day he had a revelation.

He’d been sitting with Sabrina in art therapy, feeling depressed while she seemed radiant, happier than he’d ever seen her. He wasn’t paying much attention to what was happening around him; the darkness was swirling through his mind, leaving him a miserable, anxious mess. Sabrina had been studying him carefully, her sky-blue eyes sparkling, blonde hair turning golden in the rare beams of sunlight that filtered in through the window. When class was over he returned to his room, curling up in bed, content to succumb to the darkness.

When suddenly there was a shift, something sparked deep inside, and Bryce’s smirk flashed behind closed lids, mind filling with memories. It leaves him cold, frozen in fear until there is another shift, a rise of anger that is directed at himself. Bryce set out to destroy a life; he relished in the pain he caused, in the chaos that unfolded afterwards. By surrendering to the darkness, giving in to the pain _, the misery_ he was letting Bryce win. He might never see Bryce again, he is locked up, but he still held so much power over him. Jughead had been suffering for so long, coasting along just fine until Bryce raped him, taking the wind from his sails and fire from his soul.

Things were better now; his dad was sober, he could go home, Archie wanted to be with him. He had everything at his fingertips, and yet he kept letting Bryce take the happiness he was fighting so hard to hold onto. No more, he’d lost enough to Bryce; it was time to rise, to shake off the rust and send a silent fuck you Bryce’s way. He wanted to feel powerful, to show he was stronger than Jughead, that he could take and break whatever he desired. Well screw that, Jughead wasn’t going to give into the darkness, to the memories. He’d been brave, he’d been strong, and he could be again. He didn’t have to be the mess Bryce made of him.

On that day Jughead found new strength, it arose within without warning, an incandescent light to fight off the darkness. From that day, he no longer found himself trapped in swirling, maddening memories. There was still sadness, still grief inside his chest and an ocean of emotions and feelings to be sorted, but he felt like at last he could make it through this storm. Now he’s standing on the steps of Pops, on the cusp of something more than okay but not quite better and he is proud of himself, he is hopeful.

He can make it another week; it’ll give him more time to get stronger, to get better. There is still a long way to go, rivers and roads until the days are bright and the coldness, _the fear_ has left these bones, so he’ll cherish the shiny moments while they last. He’ll kiss Archie Andrews under a snow-laden sky, tasting maple syrup on his tongue; feeling the thrill of butterflies’ flutter in his stomach, the swell of joy. Stepping away, he is ready to leave, it's cold out and time is slowly slipping through his fingers. He’ll climb into his dad’s car, hold this memory in his mind and take it out, unfold it whenever he needs to remind himself that he is strong, that he can be happy.

“You okay, Jug?” FP asked, the rumble of the engine purring quietly in the background.

“Yeah, for the first time in a while, I am” he replied, sighing contently.

FP’s lips quirked into a fond smile “I’m proud of you, bub.”

“Thanks” he had to blink away the tears, feeling warmth rise in his chest, he’d never been this close with his father and while it’s a shame that it took this to happen for them to fix their relationship he is glad they have. Maybe one day his mum and Jellybean will come home, the Jones’s will be whole again but better than before. For now, he is happy to have his dad by his side. “We should probably head back” he added, a little reluctantly.

“Yeah, but first I have a surprise for you.”

**XxX**

Fifteen minutes later Jughead finds himself standing under the grey sky, snowflakes landing delicately at his feet, melting on the concrete platform of the train station. A train rattles to a stop, doors swishing open to let out the few passengers that are visiting Riverdale. It’s easy to find his mum and Jellybean among the small crowd, their wild dark locks blowing in the icy breeze stand out. It’s freezing on the platform, even with his dad’s leather jacket draped over his shoulders to keep the chill at bay, but when Jellybean barrels into his arms, he forgets all about the cold.

It’s been months since he last saw her, weeks since they spoke on the phone. He’d missed her tales, her funny little stories of misadventures. Jellybean doesn’t know what happened to him; not really, it’s something they all agreed she was too young to understand. Jughead knows she is going to ask, she is curious, always seeking the truth and chasing knowledge, but this is one thing he will not tell. When she is older, when she can understand what happened to him he’d tell her. For now, he didn’t want to shatter her innocence, no matter how mature or smart she was, she was still a kid, and the darkness hadn’t found her.

They leave the frost covered platform, heading back to the hospital together. The warmth of the ward is a welcome relief from the bitter cold. He crawls onto the bed with Jellybean, she has been quiet, studying him carefully, she is too inquisitive for her own good. Their parents are talking with Doctor Hadley, giving them some time to catch up. He asks her about school, her friends, what books she is currently reading and does she still listen to Metallica.

She answers every question, cheerful, full of bright, shiny happiness and excitement. She regales him with tales of adventures with her friends, talking animatedly about the play they are working on for the Christmas Holidays and how school is actually pretty fun at the moment. She is still listening to Metallica, and she is currently reading some supernatural novel that their mum probably wouldn’t approve of. She is happy, bubbly and it feels the room with warmth, with innocence that Jughead will never have again. He wants her to stay this happy forever, for life to never send pain or misery her way. If only he could control the universe, pull its strings and make sure they all never felt heartache again.

He can’t. He is the master of nothing, and all her happiness is reminding him of how broken is he, it makes the jagged edges ache and his heart sink. Every day he tries, he finds glittery moments of something akin to happiness, but he isn’t there yet. There is still grief in these bones, in this heart, there are long, cold days of misery and anxiety stretching out before him. Months of PTSD, triggers and panic attacks is what he has to look forward too. It’s exhausting, but his little sister is smiling at him, taking the beanie from his head and putting it on own her own.

She asks about Archie and Betty, has he seen any good movies lately, what is he reading and listening to? The dark clouds lift from his mind, innocence may be lost, his recovery might be long and gruelling but every day is worth the fight. Because there are good things in his life, there is his sister and her stories, there is his dad and their fixed relationship, and there is Archie, and all they have yet to explore. He’ll keep marching forward, step by step, day by day, he will get better, he won’t back down, he will fight,  he will be brave.

**XxX**

Archie hasn't felt this nervous in a long time, not the sweaty palms, fidgeting nervousness that comes with having to reveal something, to tell someone something. He's hovering on the last step, listening, waiting. In the kitchen, he can hear his father making his second morning coffee, taking his time as last night there was a heavy snowfall and he had to close the site for the day. Archie loves mornings like this, when it's just the two of them and no clocks ticking away the seconds until they must part ways and step out into the real world. 

Mornings like these are safe and warm, a nice reprieve from the chaos unfolding in this town. These yellow walls have always kept him safe, they are lined with glittery memories of birthday parties and sleepovers and family dinners. They could speak of kinder days, of times before the darkness snuck in on the back of a monster disguised as a friend. This home has always kept him safe but it failed to protect Jughead, to give warning to the danger stepping through its front door. The morning turns grey, warmth lost in the chill of winter and cloud of memories. Archie shakes the ash from his mind, focusing on the good, on all that is to come.

Jughead comes home this week. Today he, Betty and Ronnie are going over to his new house to decorate his room as a surprise. Archie is going to hold tight to courage and make his way to the kitchen where he'll sit down with his dad and tell him that he is dating Jughead. That's why he's hesitating here, one foot hovering off the ground as his stomach summersaults in retaliation to finally speaking this secret. He is bi, he is dating his best friend and has been for the past few weeks. It’s time to set the truth free. Taking a deep breath, his foot finally hits the floor and the other follows, moving him to the kitchen on their own accord. 

“Hey, Arch, you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks, Veronica will be here soon, but um, I wanted to talk.” Nervously he pulled up a seat, nearly toppling it over in the process, his father fixed him with a curious stare.

“Sure, I’m all ears” he leant back against the cabinets, offering Archie an encouraging smile.

“So, this is kinda big” he started, stalling, trying to find the right words, the perfect sentence to lessen the shock. He doesn’t think his dad will reject him, will hate him but it’s still terrifying. He would like to elegantly string together a sentence instead of blurting it out which he fears he might do. The words are biting at his tongue, they don’t want to be sugar coated or explained, they just want to be spoken. “its… I’m dating Jughead.”

He should have written this down first, maybe wrote a few versions, now it’s too late his quick-fire confession is sitting in the air between them and his heart is pounding. Fred takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee then sets it aside, meeting Archie’s eyes, there is no anger or disappointment to be found, nothing but warmth and love. Archie sags, feeling relief even though his dad hasn’t spoken yet but he knows the words to come will not be full of venom or unkindness.

“How long have you two been together?” he asked, moving to the table to sit down at his son’s side.

“Not long, a little over a month” he replied. “We haven’t even been on a real date but, well we’re together if that makes sense?”

“It does” his dad still wore a thoughtful expression and Archie could see the gears turning and whirling. “I’m happy for you, Arch. I’ve watched Jug be in love with you for years, and I was starting to wonder if you’d ever figure out how you felt.”

“Seriously? Did you all think that Juggie and I would get together someday?” To think that his parents foresaw this day coming is kind of surreal. FP had been unsurprised when he caught them kissing, and Betty had apparently been ready to stage an intervention if they didn’t get together before Home Coming. It seemed like fate like they were two star-crossed lovers and no matter how dark and cruel the world got they would always make it through as long as they had each other.

“Your mum and I have a bet going” he confessed, chuckling softly “I owe her.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You had to figure it out on your own time, Arch” the lazy, cheerful grin slipped from his father’s face.

Archie can hear the unasked questions, feels his skin grow cold. “It took Betty and Veronica to point to out, for me to realise I how I felt for Jug. It was after his birthday after he was raped, but I didn’t know at the time. He hadn’t told me yet. I wasn’t sure how to tell him after I found out but eventually we just kinda kissed and we’ve talked a lot about how we feel. We’re both really happy together.”

“I am glad, for the both of you, son” Fred leant forward, Archie could sense the change in the air, his father had some advice to give or something important that needed to be spoken. “I just want you to be aware that dating Jug is going to be a little challenging, not just because this town can be narrow-minded but because of what Bryce did to him.”

“I know, dad, but Juggie is coming home, he’s gotten so much better, and so have I.” Archie doesn’t care that Jughead was raped, well of course he cares, but it doesn’t make him undesirable or any less amazing to him. Jug thought he didn’t want him, that he was tainted, ruined by what Bryce did but that wasn’t true, he would always choose Jug, regardless of what someone did to him. He was his best friend, he was beautiful and strong, and Jughead still wanted him even though Miss Grundy had used him.

“Archie, you both have been so strong through all of this and I know Jug’s mental state is improving, but he still has a long way to go before he is really better.” His father kept his tone gentle, choosing his words carefully. “Arch, you get caught up in things, you get carried away by the thrill, and that’s not a bad thing, but I wouldn’t be a very good father if I didn’t make you stop and look at this from all angles.”

“What do you mean?” He felt his skin prickle; he wished he knew where his father’s train of thought was heading. He knew he did get caught up in the moment, he was a hopeless romantic, and sometimes he acted before he really thought it through but not this time. He knew he wanted to be with Jughead; he wanted to kiss him, hold his hand as they walked through school, he wanted to explore everything with him. The one thing he was absolutely certain of, was that he was in love with Jughead, his childhood best friend.

His father lets out a weary sigh, takes a long drink from his coffee then says evenly, “Jughead might not want to have sex for a while, Archie. And I know this is the last thing you want to be talking about but I, need you to understand that you’re going to have to be careful with him. Being raped, it changes people, it affects their desires.”

Oh, this is where he was going. Archie honestly hadn’t even been thinking about sex lately and that’s not to say he didn’t want to have sex with Jug one day, because he would very much like that. It’s just they had been so busy rebuilding, learning how to live, how to love again that sex had slipped from his mind. As awkward as he feels right now he is glad his dad brought this up, he can reflect on it and when the time is right he will broach the subject with Jughead. Together they will work this out. And if Jug never wants to have sex because he is scared or just not into it then Archie will deal with it, he loves him enough to go without it.

“Honestly dad, sex has been the last thing on my mind lately” he admitted, cheeks turning as red as his hair. “I guess I kind of already knew that it would take some time for Jug to be okay with us doing anything more than kiss, and I am okay with that. There is so much we have to explore and like when we do, I will make sure Jug is really ready. That we both are.”

“Okay, that’s good.” His dad leant back, looking slightly relieved. “If you ever need to talk to me, I am here, okay?”

“Dad, I love you but I, think I will save the sex questions for Google, when the time comes.”

“Well, it’s nice to see I’ve been replaced” his dad quipped. “But seriously, Arch, don’t ever feel like you have to hide things from me or that you can’t talk to me about your relationship with Jughead.”

“Thanks, dad, I promise I will come to you.” Outside a horn blasting pierced the silent morning, followed by a ‘let’s go Archiekins’. Spared any more awkward conversations Archie got up, hugged his dad goodbye and raced out of the house. Gratefully he climbed into the back of the Veronica’s dusky pink Suzuki Swift. Betty and Veronica’s heads swivelled in his directions; he briefly wonders if he was still bright red.

“You okay, Archie?” Betty asked, reaching out to touch his knee.

“Yeah, I just told my dad that me and Jug were dating” he replied, busying himself with his seatbelt to hide the flush in his cheeks.

“And?” the girls asked in unison.

“And apparently he and my mum were waiting for this day to happen.”

“Archie this whole town was waiting for this day” Veronica smirked like she knew all the towns secrets and hidden desires long before she even arrived.

“I’m happy for you, Arch” Betty smiled. “We deserve this, to be happy.”

“I know” he mirrored her smile, feeling the awkwardness fade, replaced with warmth, with happiness that settled deep in his bones. They did deserve this, all four of them had been through hell this year, but they had come out strong, they had found each other in the chaos.

**XxX**

Jughead’s strength prevails. Today he is being discharged; he is going home to his new house. He will have therapy once a week and will attend a rape survivor group meeting at the request of Doctor Hadley and his mum. Things are getting a little easier day by day, there are still ups and downs, but he’s very quickly learnt how to deal with things. Doctor Hadley and his team of carers have taught him a handful of ways to self-calm, they’ve given him tips on how to work through his trauma in the form of writing, and most importantly they have given him strength again. Strength to fight, courage to keep going even though there are still many bad days to come, in the darkest hours they have shown him how to find the light.

It’s in the small things, like the crunch of snow beneath booted feet, a new song on the radio, an exciting book to read, the bright lights of Pops and the taste of milkshake, burgers and fries. It’s in the big things, like his sisters smiling face, his repaired relationship with his dad and his love for Archie. There are so many reasons to live, to make it through the storm, the dark hours, the no-good days, the nightmares and all the awful things in-between. He is going to get better; he is going to go Home Coming with Archie and come summer they will go on their long-awaited road trip.

The transition back into the world, school and his new home will be challenging. An unfamiliar environment has the potential to cause anxiety; there is fear around returning to school next week, knowing there will be hundreds of eyes watching his every move. The coming weeks are going to be difficult, he will struggle, fall and stumble but his dad and Archie will be by his side, there to catch him, to guide him home. Today is a good day, he is happy to be coming home, to have a place to call his own and the excitement outweighs the nerves strumming in his veins.

FP is unlocking the door to their new house; it’s a neat and tidy, three-bedroom brick home in a quiet, safe neighbourhood. It’s tiny compared to Archie or Betty’s place, but to him it’s perfect. FP leads him through the house; it’s a basic design, kitchen and living room at the front and a hallway leading to the three bedrooms and one bathroom at the back. There is no treehouse in the sparse backyard, not even a tree big enough to hold one but there is a tall fence and enough room for the dog he’s always wanted.

His room is the second door in, on the door hangs a painted sign reading Jughead with his signature crown above his name, the writing belongs to Betty. His dad had told him on the way home that Archie, Betty and Veronica had taken the liberty to decorate his room. He isn’t sure what to expect as he opens the door, knowing Veronica he can picture satin sheets and an endless supply of throw pillows and flowers flown in from New York, what he gets is a pleasant surprise.

The room itself isn’t much bigger than the one from the hospital, but instead of its pale-yellow walls this one is neutral toned, the walls decorated with framed movie posters and few motivation posters that don’t border on cheesy. It’s a space that is all his, there is a desk with his laptop ready and waiting for him, a new bed with blue duvet, and there are picture frames on shelves holding photos, memories of lighter times. It’s a place to heal, to make his own while reminding himself that he is not alone, his friends spent time putting it together, leaving echoes of love behind. It’s perfect; it’s the first time he’s felt happy in so long.

He will hold tight to this moment, for night is coming, and in the dark there be monsters.

***

The rest of the day unfolds uneventfully. Jughead unpacks his things, taking his time, enjoying having a room that he can move freely about, make his own. Everything he owned had been carried around on his back, dragged from place to place, now his life is scattered around on the bed and over the carpeted floor. It’s starting to grow dark, night stirs awake anxiety and has the promise of nightmares. It’s why he is busying himself with this task, sorting out his things and finding places for them is a better distraction than slipping into a downward spiral.

Sometimes distraction is key, keeping a wild mind busy, focused can be better than letting it run rampant with thoughts and fears. He’ll fight the darkness for as long as he can, use every tool he has been taught and hope to find safe passage through the night. His dad appears in the doorway, it’s the fifth time he’s come to check on him, and the first three times it was nice, but now it’s starting to set him on edge. He knows his dad means well, but Jughead has never been a fan of hovering or enjoyed being smothered. It also makes him feel like his dad still sees him as a broken, fragile thing and he is waiting for the inevitable collapse.

“Dad, I’m fine” he declared, shifting through his clothes, deciding what needed to go in the laundry and what could be put away. “Seriously, this lurking in my doorway was only endearing for the first few times.”

“I’m just happy you’re home,” he said crossing the threshold, “and you can’t blame me for wanting to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not going to fall apart, dad” he promised. “Honestly, I’m okay and if I’m not then I will tell you.”

“Okay,” he said, sitting down on the only available spot on the bed. “Do you want a hand with anything?”

“I’m good, but thanks” he offered his dad a gentle smile. “Did you want to maybe watch a movie or something tonight?”

“Sure, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen anything good.”

“Can we order pizza too?”

“Anything you want kiddo, ” he said, mirroring his son’s smile.

“Is that dog I want still up for negotiation?”

FP shook his head, biting back a laugh. “I don’t know, Juggie a dog is a lot of responsibility and money.” He rose to his feet, patting Jug on the shoulder as he walked out “but we’ll see.”

Jughead watched his dad leave, smiling to himself, feeling content and happy in the moment. Night arrived fast, he showered and changed into a pair of warm pyjamas, put on a movie and ate greasy pizza with his dad. When he grew tired, he crawled into bed, hoping the nightmares wouldn’t find him tonight. But they did, Bryce always found him in the dead of night, chasing him through Archie’s house or the school, pinning him to the ground where he’d tear away Jug’s clothes and take him painfully apart under a velvet night sky. He’d wake screaming, skin crawling with phantom touches, head echoing with the memory of music and between his legs aching in memory of the brutal thrusts.

Tonight, was no different; he clawed his way back to the waking world, throat in shreds, heart pounding like a warm drum, like the bass did that night. This never gets easier, every time he wakes terrified, body and soul suspended under the night sky, mind struggling to grasp reality around him. In the dead of night, with a head full of violent nightmares it’s hard to fight, it’s hard to breathe, there isn’t much hope to be found in the dark. They promise him it will get easier. The nightmares will fade in time, everything will get better in time, but in these moments, it’s hard to believe, to see nights without his personal horror show.

In the morning light, he will no doubt feel stronger; the wispy threads of the nightmare will have blown away in the early hours of the dawn, only to return come nightfall. Tired, spiralling he clings to his father when sense returns, and he can make out his face in the pale light. The anxiety has come to life, thrumming like lightning in his veins, making hands shake, and lungs squeeze tight as they fight to inhale, to give life to this feeble, fragile body. He recites the names of his favourite streets, takes in deep breaths, exhaling the panic from his lungs and mind.

Exhausted, he collapses against his dad, sobbing weakly. FP offers to lie with him until he falls asleep; Jughead accepts the offer, not wanting to be alone in the dark any longer. He settles down next to his dad, huddling close, listening to his steady breathing and relaxing under his warm touch. His father’s fingers carding through his dark locks ease the tension from his body, slowly lulling him back to sleep. Where he falls into blissful nothingness until he wakes to sunlight filtering in through the blinds, chasing away the darkness in its warm, golden glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork and epilogue will come tomorrow :)


	7. Here's To Us

_Here's to us_  
_Here's to love_  
 _All the times_  
 _That we fucked up_  
 _Here's to you_  
 _Fill the glass_  
 _Cause the last few days_  
 _Have kicked my ass_  
 _So let's give ‘em hell_  
 _Wish everybody well_

_Here’s to us_

**Halestorm - Here's To Us** _  
_

 

It’s finally time. Archie is standing on the porch of Jughead’s house, rain slowly drizzling off the awning as the sombre day turns into a chilly night. He tightens the red suit jacket around himself, the wind is picking up as the rain starts to fall heavier, the sound bouncing off the tin and echoing in the quiet air. The snow has turned to slush throughout town, the wintery magical wonderland is nothing more than patches of melting brown ice. It’s expected to snow again before midnight, perhaps in the morning the bleak day will be lost to an endless blue sky and blanket of white.

Inside there is a dog barking, Archie imagines Hot Dog, a young English sheep dog that Jug adopted a few days ago racing to the door with Jughead following behind to let him in, out of the cold. A moment later the door swings open to reveal FP, he steps aside to allow Archie entrance. It’s pleasantly warm inside, the house is cosy and charming in an old styled way. Smoothing down his shirt he looks around for Jughead, only FP and Hot Dog are to be found in the low light of the living room.

“Where’s Jug?”

“In his room” FP strolled into the kitchen, retrieving the coffee he left abandoned. “I think he’s a little nervous.”

“Has he been okay, otherwise?” When Archie was over the other day he seemed okay. They’d snuggled on the couch and watched a movie while eating popcorn and drinking hot chocolate. They’d stolen salty kisses when FP was out of sight, feeling daring and rebellious even though FP didn’t seem bothered by them being together. It was nice to have a normal afternoon, a slice of innocence returned briefly. Happy, safe moments were still fleeting, a noise or a smell or even a bad night’s sleep could affect Jug’s mood and Archie would find himself with a dejected boyfriend skittering around a panic attack.

“He’s mostly been okay, back to writing and his appetite is getting better” FP replied, bending down to pat Hot Dog. “I think it’s just tonight that has him worked up.”

“I’ll go talk to him, if that’s okay?”

“Knock yourself out Red, he’s always responded to you better than me.”

Archie didn’t know what to say to that. He knows Jug and FP have patched up their relationship but Jughead was king of secret keeping, of building walls and withdrawing deep behind them to shield himself from harm. Archie didn’t need to climb over the walls or knock them down, he had a key to the secret passageway, right to Jug’s heart. Heading towards Jughead’s room, he sends a quick message to Betty to let her know they might be late. Upon arriving at Jug’s door, fingers tracing over the crown Betty had painted on the sign, he lets out a deep breath then knocks, when Jug answers he steps in.

Jug is sitting huddled on the bed, holding a pillow and eyes glistening with anxiety. Archie had anticipated this, apart from collecting Hot Dog from the local shelter and a few visits to his house and Pops, Jug hadn’t been out much since coming home. It’s no wonder tonight he was anxious, he was going to be standing in a room full of people who accused him of being a liar, who whispered about him in the school halls and over fries and shakes at Pops. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe Archie got caught up in the fantasy of going to prom and having some magical night that would somehow make up for all the awful ones. Perhaps he was hoping to make amends for the party that got out of hand, that almost cost Jug his life.

He wanted them to feel normal. Everyone else got to be excited about their dates, their clothes, the shiny, pretty decorations and who would be prom king and queen. He wants them to have a chance to be teenagers for a time, one night to dance under fairy lights and a spinning disco ball. A night to be free of the darkness, to be young, silly and alive until reality creeps back in and reminds them that they still have a long way to go.

“You okay, Juggie?” he asked, moving to sit beside his boyfriend.

“I don’t know” he shrugged, twirling a loose thread from his beanie around and around his finger until the tip started to turn red. “I just feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Jug” he vowed, hoping _, praying_ that he could always hold true to this promise. He’d do anything to keep Jughead safe and if that meant they had to miss the dance, then so be it. He’d crawl into bed bedside him, they’d put on a movie and spend the night safe and sound inside this home. He also knew that it was most likely the anxiety making Jughead feel this way. Before he gave up on the idea of them going to prom he would at least see if he could steer him out of the darkness. “You will be completely safe, my dad and Veronica’s mum are chaperoning the dance, there will be lots of adults there to keep us troubled youth in check.”

The corner of Jug’s lip twitched into a smile, eyes becoming more focused as Archie’s words guided him from the storm raging within. “I guess my anxiety is just wreaking havoc tonight, sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry” he reassured, taking Jug’s hand into his own, unravelling the tightly wound thread from his finger. “If you get uncomfortable I promise we’ll leave straight away and if you don’t want to go then that’s cool too.”

“But you’re playing with the Josie and The Pussycats and I don’t want my anxiety to stop me from doing things, Arch.” He explained, voice strained with emotion. “I hate it, I get nervous just going out the front door and if I keep holding back than I’m going to get stuck. I don’t want to be stuck like this, it’s driving me crazy.” He sighed in frustration, head dropping to land heavily against his drawn-up knees, “I feel like I’m in no man’s land. I am in-between being okay and an anxious, angry mess and I just want to be at the better part already.”

“I understand, I do, Jug, but you have come so far in the last few weeks and you should be proud of that” Archie encouraged him to lift his head, to keep rising, keep fighting. “You are amazing, Jughead and you don’t even see it.” Archie wanted to kiss him, to pour all his love and devotion into the one small gesture but he held back, letting his words sink in.

“Thanks Archie” he said, tension dropping from his shoulders and darkness leaving his eyes as he leant in to kiss Archie on the cheek. “We should go, Josie will be pissed if you’re late.”

“Most likely but I’m not performing until later” he stood up, smoothing down his shirt and tie and fixing his new jacket. He was terrified of getting it dirty. Cheryl had given him the blazing red jacket as an early Christmas gift, which was surreal since they didn’t even exchange cards on the holiday seasons. Still he was grateful for it, he really liked it too, which is why he was paranoid about getting anything spilt on it.

“You look very handsome tonight, Archie” Jughead said, a warm smile lighting up his face.

“Thanks” he ducked his head to hide the blush creeping across his cheeks. Looking back up he found Jug had risen, he took in the tailored grey suit, enjoying the way the coat fit his narrow waist and the open collar of his navy-blue shirt revealed an expanse of pale white flesh. Biting his lip to hold back the new urges arising in him, he quickly looked away, focusing on his freshly polished shoes. He'd always been aware that Jughead was attractive but this is the first time he’s looked at him and felt a rush of deeply hidden desires.

He could deal with this, deep breath, think of something other than his boyfriends dishevelled raven locks and kissable lips. Okay, this is probably why his dad felt it was important to remind him that Jug would need time before they could be intimate. Archie could happily ravish him right here, right now. The day will come, tonight he needs to get over it, look at his boyfriend and tell him he looks good without his voice cracking in desire.

“You look handsome too, Juggie” he finally said, meeting his boyfriends still slightly troubled gaze. “You’re forgetting something though” he takes the beanie from Jughead’s hands and sets it upon his head, a crown for his king. “There, perfect.”

“Not really,” he said a little darkly “but good enough, right?”

“No” Archie declared “perfect” closing the distance between them he leant forward to capture Jughead’s lips in a tender kiss, finally saying without words all that he felt.

**XxX**

The dance is mostly what Jughead expected, loud music, spiked punch, paper decorations and an endless stream of shimmering fairy lights. When he walks in on the arm of Archie Andrews heads swivel their way, whispers and curious eyes following their every step. He did his best to ignore them, to focus on the warmth of Archie’s hand against the small of his back, the weight of it upon his shoulder and the melody of the music they swayed to. Betty and Veronica danced off in the distance, colourful lips stretched into pretty, bright smiles as they laughed and twirled to the song, happy and free in a way Jug longed to be.

It was hard to feel carefree with anxiety thrumming through his veins, keeping him tethered to spiralling thoughts and holding him hostage in fear. He tried to enjoy himself, he talked with Betty, Veronica and Cheryl between songs, drank the punch Archie handed him and danced with him under the twinkling lights. It was difficult to hold the anxiety at bay, to stop his mind from noticing the watchful eyes and murmured conversations. He’s skirting around a panic attack, praying away the ice that seeps through his bloodstream and makes him shiver despite the warm air conditioning.

Keep it together, he orders himself as he takes a deep breath and holds tight to Archie’s hand as they walk from the dance floor to a quiet corner hidden by streamers and dangling lights. Here he can breathe, can find a moment to recite the name of streets and regain control of the turmoil inside his mind. A few minutes pass then he opens his eyes, finding Archie watching him, standing close but not touching or crowding him.

“I’m good” it’s a half truth, it’s close enough. “Sorry, I’m a lousy date.”

“I’ve had worse” he said with a playful smile. “I took Lucy Palmer to a house party once and she threw up on my new Converses’.”

“That’s a sad story, Archie.”

“It gets worse, she ended up hooking up with Reggie.”

“Well that is a tragic series of events” Jughead quipped. “I promise not to throw up on you and well there is no way in hell I’d ever hook up with Reggie.”

“See, you are a great date” he stepped closer, kissing him deeply.

Jughead melted into the touch, the normalcy of their banter having chased away the dark thoughts. This is what made him happy, moments like this, where they were wholeheartedly themselves and the rest of the world and all its demons and troubles would wash away. This is all he ever needed, just Archie. Just them in quiet hidden corners, at a booth at Pops or a slightly sticky seat at the theatre watching an old school horror that would give Archie nightmares.

“I like it when it’s just us, Archie” he declared, words whispering over damp lips. “I know I’m weird, that I am going to be a challenge to date but I really like us. I like us the way we are or were before this insane year. I know you like parties and football and doing normal teenager stuff while I would much rather prefer to be at home or at Pops, but you have been so good to me, you always have been.” He pauses, brushing his fingers along Archie’s jawline “I guess what I’m trying to say is we don’t need to be any different now that we’re together, but I would like to do stupid mundane teenager things with you.”

“Jug, where is this coming from?” He asked, red brows raised high in the adorable quizzical look he gets. “I mean, I’d love for you to watch me play football and come to parties but both those things are little triggery for you and I never want to put you somewhere you feel unsafe.”

“I am going to feel unsafe every day for the rest of my life if I don’t push myself, Arch.” He admitted, sighing “I guess I’ve just been thinking about how you have always been so willing to watch obscure movies with me and spend hours at Pops whilst I’ve always turned down your invites to parties and that wasn’t fair. I don’t want to be the loner kid who everyone hates anymore.”

“Juggie” Archie pulled him into his embrace, he deflated, feeling tears gather in his eyes.

He meant what he said, he didn’t want to be hated anymore. He didn’t want to be the kid who was raped at a party only to be ridiculed and ignored when the truth came out. That’s all he was to these people, a victim, a rumour, the kid from the wrong side of the tracks that something fucking awful happened to. He wasn’t seeking their friendship, their sympathy or pity, he just wanted to be more than those things. He wanted to be a person in their eyes.

“This school doesn’t hate you, trust me” he stepped back, taking Jug’s chin in the crock of his fingers. “I know that they’ve hurt you and they don’t deserve your forgiveness but there are people out there, strangers, who care about you. You’re not hated, a little misunderstood maybe, but trust me, you are about to see how much everyone really cares for you.”

He is about to ask Archie what he means when he spins around, dragging them from the dark and out into the glittering lights. The music has stopped, on stage stands Josie, everyone is gathered before her, eagerly awaiting to see who will win the crown. Archie pushes their way through the crowd, stopping beside Betty, Veronica and Cheryl, who turn and send blinding smiles their way. Up on-stage Josie is announcing Cheryl as prom queen, the spotlight finds her, she smiles bashfully, but honestly, of course she was going to win.

As she walks by she touches Jughead’s arm. It’s strange, they are kind of friends now, she hasn’t visited him at home but they have been to Pops together a few times. They talk about mundane things over coffee, he now knows Cheryl loves horrors just as much he does, she is an avid reader of gothic romance novels and there is a bedroom in Thorn Hill Manor that is home to over a two dozen creepy china dolls and she is determined to burn them all one day. It’s a strange new world and as Cheryl steps on stage he sends her a smile, she winks at him in acknowledgement.

“Now, though my girl here doesn’t need a king” Josie is saying, setting the crown upon Cheryl’s fiery hair, “there is another person who deserves to be given the title of king.” Turning towards the crowd she flips open the envelope, a dazzling smile gracing her face as she reads aloud “and that person is Jughead Jones.”

Frozen under the blinding spotlight he stares up at Josie, searching her eyes for a lie, waiting for the punchline. Turning towards Archie and the others he finds smiles on their faces, a glint of accomplishment in their eyes. He can’t move, he doesn’t know if he should take off or walk up on stage, scared to find out if there is a bucket of blood waiting to be dropped on his head. Archie takes his hand and walks him the edge of the steps, encouraging him to go, to walk up on stage in front of the whole school.

“I can’t, Archie, this is a joke.”

“No, Jug, it’s not” Archie promised. “It’s not, I wouldn’t let you walk up there if I thought it was.”

Archie’s words free him, legs start moving at last, carrying him up the steps and onto the stage and to Josie’s side. He doesn’t know where to look, his gaze is skittering over the kids gathered before him, finding smiling faces staring back at him. Josie is holding out the crown to place upon his head, nervously he removes his beanie and bows his head, it sits snugly over his unruly curls. The room erupts in applause, in a loud thunderous apology for not believing, for lying and telling twisted tales. This doesn’t buy them forgiveness, it doesn’t undo the pain and chaos they have caused or make amends for what Bryce did to him, but it’s a start.

It’s a step forward in this strange, brave new world.

***

His mind is still reeling when he parts ways from Cheryl, after having shared their mandatory dance as prom king and queen. It’s surreal, there is a shiny plastic crown with fake ruby jewels resting upon his head instead of his worn-out beanie. He’s still not sure how he feels about this, it seems insane, like a cheap apology for not believing him. When he talks with Betty and Veronica, he learns that this was Archie’s idea. He’d gathered votes to prove to him that people cared, that they thought he was incredibly brave and strong and they had never doubted his story. They’d shared his hashtag, they asked Archie repeatedly how he is was while he was in the hospital and were relieved to know Bryce had been sent to jail.

They saw him, they believed him and while he doesn’t doubt there were a few sympathy votes he starts to feel a little less uneasy about the crown sitting on top his head. Archie had done this for him, he’d stood by his side from the very start, never swaying, always strong and love unwavering. He’d love nothing more than to take Archie’s hand and sneak out of here, find a secluded booth at Pops and share a milkshake and kisses under bright neon lights. He is starting to feel a little overwhelmed, he still struggles when people do nice things for him, and with the earlier anxiety he needs a reprieve. Only Archie has just stepped on onstage with Josie and The Pussycats, so he will hang in there awhile longer.

He moves away from the sea of students, sitting down at an empty table scattered with paper plates and empty punch cups. Archie scans the crowd, it’s not until their eyes meet does he start talking, dedicating this song to Jughead. He feels his chest tighten at Archie’s words, he knew he was going to perform but to have spent time learning a song to perform to him, _for him_ has his heart soaring. The music starts and Josie leads, voice as beautiful as ever, when Archie starts to sing it brings Jug to his feet, leading him back into the sea of bodies.

 _Here's to us, here's to love_  
All the times that we’ve messed up  
Here's to you, fill the glass  
'Cause the last few days have kicked my ass  
So let’s give 'em hell  
Wish everybody well, here's to us, here's to us

It’s overwhelming, there are so many emotions surging through him, butterflies flitter in his stomach, wings beating in time with the bass. He comes to stand beside Veronica and Betty, Cheryl appears at his other side and they gather around him, it eases some of the anxiety from his veins. He feels protected in their circle, he can enjoy the song, can look up and catch Archie’s eyes as he sings, to him, _for him_. He smiles, feeling truly happy for the first time tonight, feeling at ease with the crown upon his head and the song swirling around him.

Here’s to them, to love, to the brighter, better days ahead.

**XxX**

The night ends with them tucked away safe and content under bright neon lights, bodies pressed together, leaving no space between them. Archie’s lips taste like strawberry, he feels warm and strong under Jughead’s hands, his smile shining with love and happiness. It’s been so long since Jug felt this happy, his head is swirling with lyrics, heart filling with hope, even though there is still a long way to go. So much has happened and one magical night isn’t going to fix it or erase the memories of what Bryce did, but it allows him to see, to _believe_ he can get through this. Under the ash and ruin the boy he once was remains. He just has to keep going, keep searching deep down until he can hold tight to who he used to be.

Happiness will return, it will last longer than fleeting moments or a night, it will return to these fragile bones and weary mind. He can see that now, can see that he survived, that Bryce didn’t take everything from him. He is still breathing, he is learning to love in new and terrifying ways, he is alive and he is going to live. He will kiss Archie under neon lights, will return to school and continue writing his novel. He will start doing the things he loves again, he’ll go on dates with Archie, spend time with Betty, watch horror movies with Cheryl and hang out with his dad. In the summer, he and Archie will go on their road trip, they will explore this new and wonderful thing they have become, but they will never stray from whom they truly are.

They are best friends and they always will be. Right here, in the red vinyl booth with lips tasting of strawberry and lights beaming down on them, Jughead finally feels safe. After weeks of falling apart, of breaking down, fighting every damn second to survive, _to breathe_ ; here in Archie’s arms, among all the chaos, he has finally found peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for coming on this emotional journey with me and Jughead. Thank you for your beautiful comments, kudos and for taking the time to read this, it means a lot to me. There will be a sequel in the near future so keep an eye out for that and I will be posting a lot more Jarchie fics too so I look forward to sharing them you all :)


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